A Gift of Malice
by Astridhe
Summary: Sequel to Spiders in Silver. They say that the day an inquisitor takes their vows, their world is wholly changed, that duty consumes them and leaves room for nothing else. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps not. Original characters.
1. Doubt and Changes

**Author's Note: **There will be romance in here of a wide variety. Drow are drow, after all. If this perturbs you, you are more than welcome not to read. And this may very well not make sense if you haven't read its predecessor. Other than that and the occasional grammatical error because I'm not magical, enjoy.**  
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* * *

The countless lights of Menzoberranzan glittered in the Underdark like diamonds set into ebony, shimmering and shifting even as the mage leaned against the archway that lead to her balcony. Her slender arms were crossed in front of her chest, the barest hints of magic still dying away at her fingertips. For Alystin Kenafin, her tired gray eyes half closed under the weight of sleep, the sunless day had been long and trying. This was a brief respite, a chance to catch her breath, as it were.

Beneath her feet, the machinations of the House continued in its endless rhythms. Guards patrolled in straight lines that interlocked with the paths of others, shifts changing and giving way to fresh faces. Priestesses conducted rites on every hour while the nobles assembled and parted over and over during the day, laying plots and pitfalls to ever increase their power over their rivals. Daily life flowed in and out like the tide as slaves scurried in and out of the stronghold, bringing and taking the essentials of life with them in carts and baskets. Presiding over it all in immobile, unshakable authority was the Matron Mother herself.

But here in Alystin's study, things were quiet. Books lined most of the walls, carefully stored alongside dusty scrolls on intricately carved stone shelves. Candles flickered in their neat summoning circle or perched on silver holders, dribbling wax down onto the bare spots of the floor. Her desk was heaped with pages and pages of ritual notes and research, broken up by spell components and half-completed crafting tasks that seemed to come without an end in sight. There were a few concessions to her area of real expertise: drying herbs or roots spread out on a soft white cloth, anatomical sketches in leather bound notebooks, and bandages carefully rolled up next to small tins of salves or ointment.

"Looks like you've hardly been getting out," someone said from behind her, amusement clear in their voice. "I suppose there's really no hope for you."

Aly turned with a wide smile. "Nede, it's good to see you," she said softly. "I hear you've finally settled down and chosen a consort."

Maturity suited the priestess better than anyone had expected, but there was still much of the fires of youth in her. Nedelyne's figure was a bit thicker than when they'd first met, her posture more certain, and her features more clearly defined. She'd evaded much of the softness that nobles could easily fall into by volunteering to accompany many of the patrols. It kept her sharp, she'd insisted.

The noble of House Druu'giir laughed. "Well, it was hard to decide, but I figured at least one woman in our family ought to make up her damn mind," the cleric said, taking a seat in the armchair that was kept for the mage's occasional guest. "More than I can say for you."

"And you think I have time for that how? Every little task that the House Wizard ought to be doing is dumped on my lap instead. Probably because Sinjss almost broke him in one of her moods, but still," Aly said, sitting down in her own chair. It was well-worn and thoroughly broken in, her favorite place to study. Through the prodding of magic, it had curved and warped until it fit her absolutely perfectly. That also meant that it fit almost no one else.

Nede rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand the fascination with playing rough. Anyway, I thought you might need someone to talk to. Someone who's not related."

The mage sighed and leaned back in her chair. Exhaustion of numerous kinds made her limbs heavy and her expression weary. "That's more true than you might think. And I suppose you're the safest person to confide in here in Menzoberranzan." She paused thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Have you ever had...doubts, Nede?" There was no way Aly could be more specific comfortably, so instead she glanced over at the small icon of Lloth on the wall and the neat private altar beneath it.

Nedelyne nodded, her expression more serious. There were some things not to take lightly. "Despite what so many priestesses like to claim, it's quite normal. At some point in their life, everyone has a crisis of faith of some magnitude or another. I can't say I'm surprised that you find yourself in that situation."

Alystin raised an eyebrow. "And that is supposed to mean...?"

"For your entire life, you've been belittled by the Spider Queen's clerics as an inferior person simply for the type of magic you happen to be talented in. And the Goddess Herself is a somewhat distant presence in your life, is She not?" the priestess said simply. There was little in the way of condemnation when she spoke. The years had done much to temper ingrained fanaticism on Nede's part. Every step she took away from the Academy and the Church allowed her to reflect upon her beliefs.

"She hardly has an interest in me," the mage said by way of answer, crossing her arms.

"So you might think, if you listen to let us say...your sisters or your mother," Nedelyne said. She shrugged slightly. "It is impossible to know the mind of a deity. Even ancient and well-learned priestesses grasp at straws. But the teachings of the Spider Queen are about power, survival, cunning. Even a lowly male soldier can serve Her beyond some priestesses if he embodies these things. Sinjss and Chardalyn were born into privilege, as was Matron Kenafin. They claim cunning, but they have not clawed their way up from the bottom. I wouldn't be in a rush to take their words to heart."

Aly sighed deeply, some of the lines in her forehead smoothing out. "Thank you, Nede. It's at least comforting to hear. I feel a little less lost at the moment."

"Well, I'm probably not the perfect person for this," the cleric said with an impish grin. "After all, your mother and sisters would do many terrible things to me if they found out I was here prying secrets out of you. If, being the operative word."

"I'm surprised Sinjss doesn't know. She seems to have made my business into her business. I suppose she considers me more of a threat now that I'm well established in the House," Alystin muttered sourly.

"You catch more flies with honey than she does with poison," Nedelyne said. "Honestly, if I was really going to be worried about one of your sisters, it would be Chardalyn. But I think you and I both pass somewhat beneath her notice."

"She wants to be Matron. And sooner rather than later."

"As any High Priestess worth her salt would," Nede said with a wave of one hand. "I'm fortunate to be low on the ranks of Druu'giir nobles. My sisters may have that coveted position and all the assassination attempts and warfare that comes with it. I can see danger coming."

Aly smiled a little. "And I couldn't have it even if I did want to. Any news out in the wide world?"

"That you might like to hear? Perhaps. Sabal is back in Menzoberranzan," the priestess said.

"Really?" The mage's surprise was easy to read. "I haven't seen her since after graduation."

"Well, you are somewhat of a shut-in," Nedelyne pointed out in good humor. "And inquisitors don't get much in the way of time off. However, I've made it a point to keep an ear out for news. For the most part, she hasn't been in the city. Heretics have way-houses and enclaves that need rooting out. The swath of destruction is pretty impressive. But I do have a warning for you before you go hunting for her, Aly."

"Oh?"

"She's changed a lot."

Alystin gestured dismissively. "We all have. The Academy wasn't yesterday, after all. You're responsible, I'm somewhat confident on a good day—"

"Yes and no," the priestess said with a shrug. "They say the day an inquisitor takes their vows, their world is wholly changed, that duty consumes them and leaves room for nothing else. True or not, at least try to be careful. The rules are different out here in the real world."

"You worry so, Nede. If it makes you feel better, I give you my word."

* * *

The chapel of the Yath'Abban was dark, lit only by the glowing coals of braziers wreathed in thick, heavy smoke that still faintly smelled of incense. But even in that smoky darkness, keen amber eyes could pick out the gleaming smile of perfectly white teeth in a dark face.

"You've done well, inquisitor."

Sabal's scarred features remained perfectly immobile, only the faint flicker of her gaze hinting that she had registered speech. The years since the Academy had been hard and sometimes painful, like a fire burning in a crucible to create adamantine. There were plenty of new marks to mar her body, but none so vivid as the scar that ran horizontally across her face, from cheek to cheek over the bridge of her nose.

The laugh was soft, like velvet. "Nothing to say?"

"I did as instructed save for one thing," Sabal said, finally stirring. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, muscles moving like water. "It seemed unnecessary to check his breathing with a mirror, as his head was six feet from his body at the time. Incidentally, your priestess hadn't quite managed to get herself killed. She is waiting outside."

"You mean the Goddess's priestess, I think," the Handmaiden murmured, barely visible in the gloom.

The wilder shrugged. "Fool either way."

She was rewarded by a soft noise of amusement and then a small wave of dismissal, which suited her perfectly. There was nothing particularly enjoyable about an audience with one of her demonic handlers, except for perhaps the thrill of a chase. Sabal made a small reverential gesture in the direction of the Spider Queen's dark, grooved stone altar before turning and departing to face the fuming priestess in the hallway.

"Inquisitors are supposed to follow orders," the cleric hissed, red eyes narrowed as she glared up at the impassive scarred face. However, even the fearsome aspect of an infuriated noble was somewhat lost on this particular audience.

"I did, Revered Schezalle. They were simply not your orders," Sabal said. Her scarred hands flexed slightly, a very subtle threat for the priestess to drop the subject. The pain that had been plaguing her every moment traveling in this woman's company had returned with a vengeance. As far as the amber-eyed drowess was concerned, the only thing worse than having to take time out of her normal duties just to run down a lowly mercenary was having to do all that for the sake of some spoiled brat who was somehow mystically valuable. In her mind, there were certain servants that the Spider Queen was probably better off without.

"Just a hint," a raspy male voice said cheerfully from the shadows further down the hall. "You might want to just bite back those angry words, Revered Schezalle, and back away slowly." The priestess turned her dagger glare on the acid-twisted features of Ryld, but did so while beating a hasty retreat. He grinned in his grotesque way and winked at Sabal. "And there you have it. My magic vanishing trick strikes again."

Sabal rolled her amber eyes and relaxed slightly. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your rescue?"

"Felt like it," he said simply. "And, you know, Matron Alaenrahel would be rather put out if you ripped the head off one of her daughters."

"Matron Alaenrahel possesses the equipment to make more," Sabal said flatly, massaging her temples for a moment.

Ryld let loose with a throaty, full laugh. "And that, _que'ssan,_ is what I love about you. Now come on."

She arched an eyebrow delicately at him in a perfected expression of equal measure disdain and request for an explanation. "And where exactly will we be going?"

"To relax, of course," he said with a grand gesture of his deformed, claw-like hand. "I'm sure you're ready for some time to unwind after shepherding home that mess. Also, I might have a favor to ask of you, but that's beside the point."

The wilder studied him for a moment with those strange, amber eyes and then prowled towards the doors to the city. Every motion was poetry of silent ease like a hunting animal in its element. Perhaps she was not so predictable or compliant as her fellows, but there was much to be said for power and grace. Ryld, ever experienced in measuring people, could also sense a familiar restlessness in those movements. It was like a beast returned to its cage again. He shivered slightly when he felt something ghost against the very edges of his thoughts, barely tangible. Training had taught him to look for it, but sometimes he regretted that awareness around inquisitors. Sabal's mind swept on, ever hunting as it combed through the sea of thoughts around her.

A predator could never really stop looking for prey.


	2. Just Words

"Still not ready to talk?" Ryld said beneath the sounds of the brothel, settled neatly into his usual table. Here, people were distracted and careless. It was the perfect place to have quiet meetings where important things wouldn't be overheard. Sabal understood his logic without having to search his mind, brushing aside the lecherous thoughts of drinking drow mercenaries.

The amber-eyed drowess took a seat, her back to the wall. The table was tactical in choice, against one wall and equal distance between several routes of escape. Half dressed slaves of various races and gender also could potentially make excellent shields in case of attack. Caution was native to their respective crafts. "What about? I'm speaking with you now," she said simply as he ordered a drink.

He gave her a meaningful glance. "You're not that dense, Sabal. You know exactly what I mean. You can't just keep everyone at arm's length forever."

"There's nothing to say," she said, voice just a touch colder and harder. Feral eyes narrowed slightly at the scarred male. "Words do not undo the past."

Ryld changed the subject in his breezy, easy way. "Well, you're back in the city now. Imagine the kind of trouble you can get into! Actually, imagine a very specific sort of trouble involving a very specific person. I'd worship you forever if you could get something for me."

Sabal shook her head slightly as their drinks were set down by a very deferential and subdued male human in a collar. Even before he could ask about anything further in mangled drow, the inquisitor waved her hand. "That is all. And really, Ryld? The thief can't get something so he comes to me?"

His face twisted and pulled as he looked innocently at her. "Thief? You wound me. I am an artist specializing in...acquiring certain delicate things. Besides, it's not precisely something shiny."

"This is not for the Church, I take it."

"Not exactly as such, no. You see, a rather powerful woman has taken something valuable from me. Let's call it a family heirloom. It's a divine artifact of the Masked God, which I use to pass undetected among his followers when I'm gathering information. It works under other circumstances, of course. But the nature of the artifact might lead to a delightful misunderstanding with Revered Yvonnel if I asked her to request it back. And because I fancy my heart in my chest, I came to you," Ryld said simply, his claw-like hand curving around his glass of dark wine.

The wilder leaned back slightly in her seat, weighing this carefully. The favor being asked was somewhat substantial, but she knew that both Ryld was good for it and that he'd clearly already exhausted his options. No drow enjoyed having to ask others for assistance, though he was a creature willing to sacrifice pride for results. "I will need to know who took it from you."

He grinned widely. "A noble of House Kenafin, Revered Chardalyn."

If Sabal had any strong feelings towards the woman in question, she did an admirable job of concealing it. Ryld couldn't detect much of anything except irritation in the inquisitor's gaze, probably directed at her general surroundings. "I'll consider it," she said before standing up and sliding her chair in.

"Not going to drink your wine?" he asked, a little surprised by the sudden departure.

"I like a clear head. Enjoy, Ryld." She moved through the crowd with ease, sighing slightly in relief as she reached the city streets. Perhaps it was private, but the din of thoughts was almost overwhelming. There were more minds out here, of course, but they were quieter. Alcohol had a way of bringing people's walls down.

Menzoberranzan made her long to be out in the wilds of the Underdark again. There was something so simple about the hunt. The silence of no thoughts save her own for days at a time brought her into focus. Perhaps it was lonely, but Sabal vastly preferred solitary ranging over the endless machinations here in confinement. It seemed the days where the glimmering expanse of the city held sway over her had come to a crashing end at last. She could still remember the days as a child where she'd wound her way through the streets, looking at every marvel in the markets with wide eyes.

Her feet took her to the nicer avenues of the city without any real input from her mind, which suited her fine. An inquisitor was watched cautiously on every street, whether winding through the slums or parading broadly and smoothly between the palatial compounds of the Houses that rose up like monoliths throughout Menzoberranzan. Here, well-dressed merchants and branded slaves scurried to and fro at the biddings of nobles in beautifully immaculate clothing or priestesses with snake-whips uncurled. Male warriors or wizards strutted up and down the avenues in armor and robes bearing house glyphs, heads high with an arrogant pride that well masked the insecurities buried beneath. There was ever a bustle, the lifeblood of the ruling class—servants, artisans, craftsmen, and sentinels—circulating as if pumped ever onwards by some colossal stony heart.

Something tugged at the deep corners of her mind, stirring her out of the comfortable quiet of her thoughts. Without thinking, Sabal looked in the direction and felt her whole body freeze as though encased in ice. She had become an island of stillness inn the midst of a rushing river of motion. Amber eyes pierced the darkness. Above, looking down absently at the crowd, was a familiar grey-eyed mage next to the brooding and unforgiving figure of House Kenafin's Matron.

The feelings that she had considered long dead and buried—with good riddance—flooded back to the surface with an intensity that made her head pound. _Keep walking, or you'll draw attention to yourself,_ she ordered her body. At least it had the good grace to answer her in that, though she still couldn't quite look completely away. It was hard to breathe for a moment, like she'd been knocked on her back during a fight.

It was impossible to really forget, of course. She'd been allowed into a mind once and part of her had never really left that space. This was simply the first time the wilder had realized it. Just as a lodestone always pointed towards north, no matter how far from Menzoberranzan she ranged there was always that subtle pull.

Sabal gripped the knife tucked in her crimson sash tightly, brushing her thumb across the small and beautifully detailed silver spider on the pommel. The crooked, disjointed blade pressed against her armor ever so slightly. It was a reassuring and painful token at the same time, something to force her to remember what was at stake.

"She wants to see you, you know," Nedelyne said softly, falling in step beside the inquisitor. The cleric had just sort of materialized out of the crowd, the patterns of her thoughts masked perfectly by the background chatter. She'd spent enough time around Sabal to know how to make herself less obvious, though the amber-eyed drowess was probably regretting her help at the moment.

"You didn't have to tell her I was back," Sabal said darkly, mind working as quickly as ever.

"And you think a noble can't exert the influence to find out? It was a matter of time. I figured I'd save myself from the accusations now," Nedelyne said with an impish grin. "Besides, she has mastered the art of sad eyes. You wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret if she'd used them on you."

The humor seemed just a bit lost on the wilder, judging by the muscles flexing slightly as her jaw tensed. But the inquisitor just squared her shoulders slightly, long paces forcing Nede to move faster to keep up.

"Talk to her, Sabal. What do you have to lose?" the priestess said, grabbing the inquisitor by the arm. Her fingers dug in hard, forcing her friend to pay attention to her. When the scarred face turned to meet her abruptly, she could see a flash of...something in the amber eyes.

"A lot. You know I'm poison, Nede," she said. There was something like stone in her, refusing to budge on this. "My vows."

Nedelyne made a noise of frustration. "And since when do you let them rule every part of your life, Sabal. They're just words!"

The inquisitor wrenched her arm out of the cleric's grip with a sudden harshness and turned away. She didn't know what to say to answer that, to tell her friend just how wrong she was. But the thoughts couldn't make it out of her throat past the giant knot. Instead, her fingers brushed against the dagger again to help her swallow the emotion. _Think of cold. Think of silence. Think of darkness. _"Maybe," she said quietly, hoarsely as she returned to her quick pace.

"Sabal, I'm not finished with you!" But Nede knew when not to pursue, her resolve to make the inquisitor sit and listen shaken off by the sudden chill that had set into the air. The priestess growled, then muttered under her breath, "Goddess take you, Ryld. Ready my ass."

* * *

"I hate this city. Full of ghosts," Sabal whispered softly, lying in her bunk within the Yath'Abban barracks. Her armor was carefully laid out on the table, oiled and neatly kept. Here in the cells of the inquisitors, the world was silent and empty without thoughts to distract them. Home was barren, but in a way it reassured her. All she needed was a bed, a table, and a desk. There were a few shelves for the books and a few oddities she'd picked up on her way. But mostly, there was just room to think.

For all its emptiness, no one here trespassed in a room that was so unquestionably Sabal's. Her thoughts had battered the walls so heavily that echoes of her lingered even months after she was gone.

Her confidant looked up at her with eight gleaming eyes, a leg twitching. The spider's body was as large as a cat, covered in bristly gray hair. The human merchant, while practically quivering in fear at seeing a drow so close to a dwarven city, had told her that the spider was a tarantula of some kind from the far south on the surface. She'd been surprisingly polite to him—albeit in her cold way—but the creature ended up coming with her. And now, as she gazed down into adoring ebony eyes, she wouldn't have had it any other way.

"You're a good boy, Nym," she said indulgently, gently petting his restless foreleg. Even other drow tended to be cautious of him ever since his bite had melted half the flesh off the hand of a fugitive trying to escape.

Nym's mandibles clicked in a lazy, content sound of approval, settling down on her stomach for a nap after his meal. The remains of the lizard were still wrapped in silk and dangling up in the corner of her room as a grisly warning to its fellows about the danger of trespassing into this particular drow's quarters.

"As much as I'd love to let you sleep on me, I have new notches to hone out of my sword blade," Sabal said, scooping him up into her arms for a gentle hug before she set him down on the bed.

He looked up at her, miffed, before scuttling up the wall to sleep on one of her shelves. The inquisitor couldn't help a little smile. Sometimes, her pet was very...catlike. If with far too many limbs.

She set to work on her blade and contented herself with the knowledge that his resolve wouldn't last very long. He always ended up sleeping under the blankets, cuddling up to her feet, whether they were home or out in the wilds. It had taken her a little while to get used to, but it was better than the alternative, which was waking up to a big fuzzy body sleeping on her face. Even she had her limits.

Just as she'd found her rhythm with the whetstone, there was a rapid and somewhat erratic knock on her door. Enthusiasm practically burst through every knock. _Relonor... _She sighed and immediately felt a small twinge of guilt. His eagerness was never a bad thing, though she did wish it hadn't come with quite so much petulance and pettiness. But what could you expect from a priestess's son?

"Come in," she called without looking up until the door was almost completely open. "Oh, and watch out for—"

The shriek was impressive in it's volume, she had to admit. But not quite as impressive as the flying leap Nym had used to launch himself straight at the young male drow's face in a flurry of overwhelming friendliness. She had the good grace to keep the smirk off her face and bite back her laughter as she pulled her pet off the fighter-in-training who was staring up with saucer-like eyes.

"He likes people," Sabal said with a shrug, shooing Nym under her bed before offering Relonor a hand up.

The boy was halfway through adolescence, frame bony and lanky. He was trapped in his awkward phase, without the coordination a fighter really needed. Unfortunately, he didn't have a gift for magic either. But Revered Yvonnel owed his mother some sort of favor and had allowed him to try his hand at training with the Yath'Abban. It probably would have got him killed without the timely intervention of Ryld and, rather grudgingly, Sabal.

"He does that to people he likes?" Relonor said with a gulp, accepting her assistance. "What about people he dislikes?"

"It's almost the same, except with fangs. But your face is still on your head and not half-dissolved, so it's safe to say he likes you," the wilder said, settling back into her normal collected self. _Only Nym_, she reflected, treasuring the brief flash of humor. Her days would have been so much darker without the spider's odd charms. "Now, you came here with a reason, I suppose?"

"Umm...yes. There's someone here to see you. Revered Yvonnel sent me to fetch you."

Sabal felt a stab of irritation in her chest, but brushed it aside. Summons weren't something she could ignore no matter how tempting the idea. "Thank you, Relonor," she said automatically. He looked at her with a sheepish gratitude. As much as he whined from time to time, it was nice to have someone who bothered to notice his existence. Even if it was usually to chide him. But before he had time to say another word, she'd slipped out the door past him.


	3. Stay

"Believe me, Yvonnel, I'm well aware of the irony," Quenthel muttered darkly, eyes narrowing dangerously as she toyed with the black daylight beads on her necklace. Throwing just one could blind everyone in the room, but that was a weapon better hidden up her sleeve, as satisfying as it would be to hear the priestess in front of her shriek in pain.

The priestess who generally served as the Yath'Abban's face smiled slightly, as pleasant in her demeanor as ever. It made her a difficult woman to read, not that she would dare challenge the power arrayed in front of her. Yvonnel turned ever so slightly when she heard familiar footsteps. "Sabal, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if a search party might be required."

"Revered Yvonnel," the amber eyed drowess said with a polite inclination of her head. She extended the same to Quenthel. Perhaps it was irreverent to not appear more submissive in front of Arach-Tinilith's unquestioned matriarch, but such was expected of inquisitors. They tended to bend the rules around them. "Revered Mistress."

"I did not realize the Church's servants were allowed to be so casual in their manner when addressing their betters," the noble said sharply, clearly in an unpleasant temper. But it was always better to suffer the ire of one of the most powerful women in Menzoberranzan quietly...or at least so Yvonnel had always thought. Apparently the instincts of self-preservation that kept most drow painfully deferential were somewhat lacking in Sabal.

"There is a certain level of humility that normally follows those asking for a favor, _Mistress,_" Sabal said without looking away from the Baenre woman.

The narrowed eyes widened ever so slightly in shock for just a moment, and then the glare returned with even more blistering ferocity. "You are fortunate that you are thought of so highly, girl."

"I imagine that has little to do with it. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have none at all."

Yvonnel realized she'd taken a step back reflexively, fingers starting to sketch the runes for protective wards without asking her brain. She might have scolded herself for a potential loss of face, had she not been still considering that move an increasingly attractive option. She crossed her arms, waiting. It was always interesting to see what happened when an irresistible force like Quenthel Baenre met an immovable object like Sabal. Something had to give.

"Enough. I did not come here to bandy words with you, inquisitor," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, lip curling into a sneer even as she pulled herself up to her full height. She was taller than Sabal, but not by more than an inch. They were both athletic in build, but she could hardly compete with the iron muscle of a woman constantly in and out of combat. "I have a task for you, and you _will_ complete it."

The display didn't seem to cow Sabal. "I take orders only from the yochlol. Anything else is a request, Mistress," the amber-eyed drowess said flatly. "You will have a debt to the Yath'Abban. Unless you consider yourself equal to a Handmaiden, that is."

_Oh, little Sabal, you're getting good_, Yvonnel thought, barely suppressing a wicked smile. _You've spun quite the web there. Quenthel is good and angry, too. She walked right into it._ She could see the absolute rage flash in the Baenre noble's dark eyes as she realized what she'd stumbled into. It was enough to make the Revered Daughter almost kiss the inquisitor on the cheek in glee.

"So be it," Quenthel ground out. "Yvonnel, leave us."

"Of course," she said placidly, bowing and excusing herself. She managed to keep her composure all the way down the hall, until she saw Ryld. Then the grin broke across her face. "Xullae's little spider has learned a great deal."

The scarred male raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Yvonnel's impish glee had put a spring into her step. "You should have seen Quenthel's face, Ryld. It was wonderful," she said, savoring the slight moment of victory. After all, Sabal did answer to her yet.

Back in the now almost deserted receiving room, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith took a seat. Her temper seemed to have cooled slightly, though Sabal doubted that. If there was one thing Quenthel Baenre was known for beyond her power and fanatical devotion to Lloth, it was certainly arrogance. Pride like that did not gracefully accept wounds.

"It's not often someone dares to do something like that," the cleric said smoothly, studying the stony visage of the inquisitor in front of her. "You're much stronger than you were last I saw you. When you took your vows, as I recall." The words were ever so softly probing, trying to find any little weakness she could use for vengeance. "That woman you struck down...Xullara...no, that doesn't sound quite right."

"Xullae," Sabal corrected, her tone as transparent as a lump of coal.

Quenthel was irritated with the fact that the wilder hadn't risen to take the bait. But the emotion didn't show on her face or anywhere near the surface of her thoughts. Instead she took another stab and said smoothly, "Well, you must have been close to her to take her name. Mind you, perhaps Sabal A'Daragon has a better ring to it."

"I took it some time before that. For the Academy, as you might recall," the amber-eyed drowess said without a single change in her voice or face. "I doubt who I associate or have associated with in the past is hardly why you came, Mistress."

_Very well, then. We'll change the subject. But don't think I'll forget this,_ Quenthel's dark eyes seemed to say dangerously. "No, it is not. I need you to find someone. My daughter, as a matter of fact. Drisinil is rather adept at concealing herself, so it may be somewhat of a challenge."

Sabal raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Returning lost strays is not the business of an inquisitor."

"But killing heretics is," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said. She smiled ever so slightly, but there was nothing pleasant in that look of amusement. "Perhaps you misunderstand my meaning when I say find. So I shall be clear. Drisinil has abandoned the Spider Queen and Her divine teachings. I do not wish her return, I wish her body in scattered pieces for the carrion eaters of the Underdark to feast upon, without anyone else being the wiser. As you might imagine, discovery of her failure would reflect somewhat poorly on House Baenre and myself."

"Then your interests align with my vows. It will be done. In secret, if it must be. But the price for such things is not small," the inquisitor said as she considered her course forward. She'd done less savory things on behalf of the yochlols before, compelled by her vows. Even if this was far less simple than it seemed, it was clearly defined in terms of right and wrong.

"Of course. No doubt Revered Yvonnel will have a word or two to say to me about it," Quenthel said with a hint of venom. She rose from her seat. "That is all I wished from you, inquisitor. I do hope you don't mind my inquiries into...what was her name again?"

"Xullae. Xullae A'Daragon," Sabal said blankly. Her amber eyes followed the noble out, even as she counted the moments inside the confines of her mind. _Out of earshot right...about...now..._ The icy fury that had been crystallizing inside the center of her chest exploded outward in a violent surge of power, shattering a statue that was standing against one of the walls. The shards of polished onyx crunched under her feet as she stalked out, lips pressed together into a stern line. _How dare she!_

"Is everything alright?" Relonor blurted out, holding Nym in his arms as the inquisitor stalked past him. The sudden feeling of cold seemed to trail behind her, making the young male shiver. He wasn't treated to a response, which he was somewhat grateful for. Sabal was not known for being understanding when she was in a mood.

A clawed hand squeezed his shoulder slightly. "Best let her pummel a few things first, Rel," the acid-scarred male drow said, looking down the hall where Sabal had vanished. "Better not to poke an angry viper in the nose, you know? Just stay with old Ryld, and it'll blow over in a little while."

* * *

Sszrar had never forgotten the day she walked into his life. He thought about it now, as he sat on the edge of the bed they'd shared more often than not and lost himself in his thoughts. Why there had ever been even a spark of interest in her eyes, he didn't know. He was out of his prime as a gladiator and had gone from the Champion of the Arena to a lame, one-eyed, barely surviving fighter. He was spared because it had been more humiliating than death. But she hadn't even seen him then, close to his prime.

Instead, it'd been a few words at the Arena when House Druu'giir was sponsoring games. He remembered when she asked him his name, only to say, "You fought well, Sszrar. I'll have to keep an eye out for you again."

It was unbelievably stupid, but he'd fought harder every match after that just in case she might see. Experience had long ago taught him what priestesses were capable of, but there was something different in the way she'd said his name. He made it a point to cross her path whenever he could, and she recognized him every time. Something about that put a spring in his step that he hadn't had since he lost his place at the top.

He twisted his gnarled hands together and then apart in his lap. He'd never been treated this way before. Female drow didn't ask for permission or touch him softly like he was something prized or look at him with a special smile only for him or whisper breathless things in his ear when they pulled him into bed. At least, not one that he'd met before her. He'd spent so long waiting for the trap to spring, and yet it never did.

Three days, since they last spoke. He'd tried more recently, to apologize, to say he hadn't meant it, but every time she was gone. Avoiding him, no doubt. But now he was here, waiting for her to come back.

_Stay with me,_ she'd said. It was the first time any male had ever heard those words from her. Everyone knew there had been more than a few others she'd kept for a fling or two. But nothing more. How long was he supposed to last with his ugly face and his crippled leg, they'd asked him.

_Don't you have anyone else to amuse you? _He hadn't meant to speak so sharply, so harshly. He would have never said such a thing to any other woman without fearing for his health. But she'd never laid a finger on him in anger and he felt safe to just stupidly blunder along. _I'm not interested in being a pet. _

_That wasn't what I—_ He remembered painfully well seeing the way she bit off her words, teeth pressing her lower lip into silence for a long moment. Her words were soft and quiet when she spoke again. _Just go, then._

It wasn't until later that he realized what he'd done, when one of the monsters bred for battle out of goblin and drow blood leered at him and said, _So you turned down the offer after all, old man._

He'd slammed the horrible creature against the wall, demanding to know what it was on about. And that was when he found out what the question meant. She had been asking him to be her consort. Not a pet, but a partner. With all the trust and respect and power that position conveyed.

Sszrar snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the door to her chambers open and that wonderfully familiar voice, currently snapping in irritation. "If I wanted your idiot opinion, Shi'ndra, I would crack your skull open and fish it out of what little brains you have."

"Is somebody still in a mood?" the older priestess said, smugness coloring her voice. "I told you the Matron would be angry."

"Well, we can't all be as considerate and patient as I am. Those two virtues, incidentally, are why you aren't being picked in chunks out of a crater. Now get out." The last three words were spat out with poison enough to chase off even an experienced cleric. She had her gifts, after all, particularly for reducing foes to smoldering piles of ash. He would have smiled a little, if it weren't for the way they'd parted.

He stood up when he heard her sigh in the other room and the soft sounds of weapons being set aside, padding towards the threshold as quietly as he could with his limp. He leaned against the arch, watching in silence. She seemed tired now with her hands resting on the back of a chair as she looked down at a spread map, more than she normally was. Perhaps she really had been busy when he came to call.

"Nede," he said quietly.

She flinched slightly, knocking her dagger off the table and onto the chair. _She didn't think I would be here,_ he noted as she turned to face him. But his priestess was good at catching herself whenever she took a misstep. The self-deprecating smile was there in a heartbeat, wry humor covering whatever else had flickered in her eyes when she first looked at him.

"Here I was trying to leave you alone, and I end up with you coming out of my bedroom. Clearly I'm more terrible at keeping my word to myself than I thought," she said. He could feel the sting turned inward as he closed the distance between them. "Forget something?"

Sszrar nodded slightly, searching her face with his pale eyes. The frown started slowly as she looked up at him, but she tried to keep her voice light.

"Yes, I know there's a few gray hairs, but I swear that they belong to Alystin and I'm just borrowing them until I can get my own."

He cleared his throat and the smile vanished from her face like it had never been there. "Did you mean it when you asked me?" he said quietly, stopping just short of touching her.

"I've asked you a lot of things," she said abruptly, pulling away from him. "You mean the last time we spoke?"

"Yes." Sszrar was silent after that. She needed time to say things when the matter really was serious. It'd always surprised him. Any other time, the words came to her so easily.

He heard the sharp, almost choking breath after she turned her back to him. "You and your stupid questions, Sszrar." There wasn't a blow in the words. "Fair, I suppose. I say plenty of things I don't mean. But not to you."

"I'm sorry, Nede." He'd never been good at apologies.

She sighed and turned back to face him, arms crossed. The anger he expected wasn't there. "I never do leave good things well enough alone. Could we just...forget that I said anything?"

"No." His answer surprised himself. He hadn't meant to say it. The word just jumped out. Before she could react or say anything though, he stepped forward and pulled her close. "Say it again?"

Her fingers curled in his shirt, drawing him into her. Sszrar was grateful he hadn't worn his armor as he let his forehead rest against hers. He felt her hand move in a brief flash of uncertainty as he covered her hand with his and held it tight against his sternum, just above a beating heart. The quiet stretched on and on, until he started to doubt that he would have another chance.

But she always did manage to surprise him. "Stay with me," his priestess breathed softly, letting herself lean into the battered fighter just a little.

"Always."


	4. Into the Darkness

Sabal couldn't stop herself from smirking just a little bit when Nedelyne walked out to meet her in the Yath'Abban training yard, just a hint of stiffness to her movements. "Sore, are we?" she teased ever so lightly from where she was sitting on the low wall that enclosed the open space. Some distance away, a group of male drow were assembling their gear and preparing to leave the city.

"Mmm...a little," the cleric said with just a trace of smugness, still smiling.

"You're late. The Baenre lieutenant was twisting himself half into a knot about your absence," the inquisitor said, nudging her friend with an elbow. "Looks like someone had an eventful night."

"Sszrar does the most amazing thing wi—" She was cut off by Sabal's armored hand covering her mouth.

"I don't need the details, thank you," the amber-eyed drowess said before lowering her hand. "I am content in the knowledge that you both have what you wanted. Maybe now you can stop thinking about it quite so loudly?"

Nedelyne grinned wickedly. "Oh, I've only begun," she said, baiting her friend.

"And this is why I wish I'd taken a vow of solitude," Sabal murmured with a roll of her eyes.

"Do my ears deceive me? Has the grim, growling Sabal made a jest about her obligations?" the cleric said, earning herself a punch in the shoulder. She scowled fiercely at the wilder and rubbed the afflicted area. "I take it that means I shouldn't get used to it. Are you ready?"

"For a patrol?" the inquisitor said with a raised eyebrow. _After you_, her expression read with just a hint of challenge.

"Well, technically it is House Baenre's project. I'm here as a favor from House Druu'giir," Nedelyne said as she pulled on her armor. A cleric's robes were all well and good for daily life, but the wilds of the Night Beneath were hardly so comfortable. "I'm not entirely clear on why they've requested you."

Sabal just shrugged slightly. She knew what it meant when her presence was ordered by the yochlol: the Goddess's agents had something invested and wanted to be able to exert their influence. There were places in the world that Lloth's clerics lost their power. But an inquisitor was just as potent whether inside an enemy's home territory or not. "Sooner we leave, the better."

"Agreed," a familiar voice said from behind them.

Nede's teeth clicked together audibly and she looked up as she cinched her bracer tight. "Ilivarra, you look...well," she said as if being civil was agonizingly painful. The air between the two glaring female drow seemed almost ready to burst into flame.

"I must say, if I'd realized the company this trip required, I would have opted out," the Baenre noble said coolly. She was less rough around the edges than Nedelyne, polished from an endless parade of days in the company of the influential. The beauty common to the women in her family had come into its own, though the expression of distaste took away from the aristocratic features at the moment.

"I could say the same," Nedelyne said darkly. She relaxed just a little at the sight of the last member of their group arriving. "Take you long enough, Aly?"

Sabal looked up to see their friend slip past the male drow, her satchel on her shoulder. The mage was quiet, clearly apprehensive about the whole business, but she did flash the inquisitor a smile. "I apologize, Nede. Sinjss and I were having words," she said quietly before adding mostly under her breath, "...at the top of our lungs."

"Inquisitor," Ilivarra said flatly to Sabal with a brief inclination of her head. There was less of the brazen disdain she directed at Nedelyne, however. She knew when not to make an enemy.

"Priestess." The wilder's tone was dry, but not particularly challenging. "If everyone is prepared, perhaps we should depart?"

"The sooner this is over with, the better," Nedelyne said by way of agreement. This was not going to be a particularly enjoyable patrol, but she'd had worse.

* * *

Alystin walked quietly at Sabal's side, eyes scanning the darkness of the tunnel ahead for any hints of possible trouble. The inquisitor hadn't said anything since the group set out, stony silence directed at everything around her. A fair enough response, with Ilivarra and Nedelyne near each other. They were like a pair of tigers trapped in the same territory, circling each other looking for weaknesses only to pounce on any little thing for a fight. Submitting was unthinkable.

The mage wanted to say something, but she doubted it would earn a real response from the wilder. It felt like there was some kind of invisible cage separating her from everyone else. It made the others uncomfortable. Their eyes watched the agent of Lloth as much as the road ahead.

"There is a river ahead," Sabal said, snapping Aly out of her conflicted thoughts. "I hear rushing water."

"The River Sirn," the mage supplied automatically. "It's a treacherous crossing save for the bridge. And nearer to the surface than I thought we were going."

"Ilivarra supplied the map. Whether or not she can make sense of it is debatable," Nedelyne muttered from behind them. The lead had rather unceremoniously fallen on the pair, which suited them both quite well. They were away from most of the arguing.

"We should camp on this side. I'd rather cross when we're rested, just in case," Aly said, coming to a full stop as the tunnel opened up before them.

The Sirn boiled in at one end of the cavern in a foaming rage and showed no sign of calming as it scoured through its deep channel. The area was thick with mushroom groves and stands of pale grass that endured without the sun, glowing soft phosphorescent blue light. Above arched tree-like growths of harsh, barbed thorns that threatened harm. Alystin was familiar with the area, more than most. This was where the Patron had brought her when he fashioned her staff. She had enchanted it herself, of course, but the gesture had been one of a fondness she thought long dead.

"Afraid of water, mage?" Ilivarra said, voice sharp with scorn. "We've a few more hours in us. Let's go."

Nedelyne turned around, jaw clenched tightly. "And rush ahead to camp in territory where we can't see an enemy coming?" she snapped, immediately bristling at the Baenre noble.

"This patrol has a schedule, Druu'giir," her rival sneered. "We can't all amble along like faeries plucking flowers for their half-wit gods in the meadow."

Sabal's hand shot out, closing on Nedelyne's shoulder with a vise-like grip that wrenched her back before she could lunge at the offending party. Nedelyne had a calmer head for a noble drowess, but a few hours of mockery from Ilivarra was enough to drive anyone into a frothing rage. "We are not here to bicker, children," the inquisitor said coldly.

Ilivarra looked livid. "You serve the Church, A'Daragon."

There was a powerful crack from nowhere and Ilivarra stumbled back, clutching her head. Even Nede and Aly flinched at the rippling force of the psionic slap. They had never seen Sabal use her powers freely, let alone against a priestess. "Your whims are not the will of the Goddess," the scarred drowess said, face expressionless except for the faintest curl of her lip. "Do not forget that twice."

Amber eyes roved over to settle on the male drow in their company, all of them frozen like statues with breath caught in her throats. She focused her gaze on the lead soldier. "Does something here interest you so much that you must stare, Calzaer?" Sabal asked. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were not.

"No, _ussta jallil,_" he said quickly, dropping his eyes to the ground.

"Alystin, does the ground beyond the bridge close immediately, or there is an open area?"

The mage snapped out of her stunned silence. "The passage is narrow for perhaps an hour, but then widens into a cavern larger than this. Much of the far ground is marshy and heavily forested, but we should come out on dry, elevated stone," she said, recalling the area well. Sorcere had honed her memory quite impressively.

"Then we will cross now and plan on a camp there," Sabal said before turning to look at the carved stone arch that bridged the gap. "Two at a time and carefully. It looks like treacherous footing. Ilivarra and I will go first. If we are attacked on the far side, she and I are best equipped to repel attackers. Aly, stay in the center of the group. I would rather not have our healer fending off trouble without a ready group nearby."

"I'll take rearguard with Calzaer," Nedelyne said, getting a sense for Sabal's plan quickly. Even if she hadn't been around Sabal much, she was versed in tactics as befitted a noble. "One offensive cleric at each side should give us some security."

Sabal just nodded, starting towards the bridge. And like a kicked dog, Ilivarra slunk after her with a sullen obedience.

"What just happened?" the mage whispered in her friend's ear.

Nedelyne shrugged slightly, watching Sabal go. "I told you she'd changed, Aly. I guess I was right more than I thought. Better Ilivarra than me."

* * *

**ussta jallil**_**-** __my lady_


	5. Trust and Trinkets

**Author's Note: Apologies for the delay on these. Haven't had a computer running to get them up, but that should be fixed now. On the bright side, chapters might be a bit longer to make up for it.**

* * *

"Look, not that I'm advocating mercy for Ilivarra, but was that really necessary?" Nede asked as they packed up camp the next cycle, helping Sabal bury any signs of their magical fire.

"Yes, it was. Ilivarra is of no use to us unchecked. Now she thinks before she speaks," Sabal said quietly, amber eyes flickering up to look at the cleric. "In my place you would have done the same."

"Perhaps," House Druu'giir's priestess admitted. "But it would have been mostly to see Ilivarra squirm."

"I consider that a bonus." The wilder dusted off her hands as Alystin approached, now finished with their task as Nedelyne wove the final concealing enchantments over the spot with a murmured prayer. They were all being cautious now, well aware they were not in their home territory. Calzaer had even posted watch, though the priestesses were not expected to take part-they had already contributed silent wards and carefully spun a web of sensing magics so that approaching the camp undetected was virtually impossible.

"Sabal?" Alystin said quietly as Nedelyne went to go discuss the plan for moving on with Calzaer and Ilivarra.

"I'm listening," the wilder said, her face still as impassive as ever. It frustrated Alystin that there was no clue to what thoughts roiled behind that wall of emotionless expression.

"Why won't you just talk to me? Why aren't things like they were before?" the mage asked, arms crossed even as she stepped in closer so this wouldn't be overheard. "You've barely said two words to me this whole journey, and even those were out of necessity."

"Things change," Sabal said with a slight shrug. Her amber eyes seemed distant when they looked at Aly, like there were miles between them. "It is better to keep an inquisitor at arm's length. I am not allowed anything more than that."

"And if that's not what I want?" the noble asked with a frown forming on her face.

"Then I am sorry," Sabal said brusquely, gaze abruptly turning back to her work so she didn't have to see hurt or anger or sorrow in those gray eyes. "But sometimes disappointment is better than false hope."

"What happened to you?" Alystin asked, her voice harsh even to her own ears. "At the Academy you were afraid of nothing. Now you let no one close and shut yourself away in the cold darkness. What are you so afraid of, Sabal A'Daragon?"

Scarred hands tightened into fists at the inquisitor's sides. "Not of. For." She took a deep, sharp breath. "I cannot be who you want me to be, Alystin."

The gray eyes searched her scarred face, but Sabal was careful that they find nothing reassuring or comforting there. It meant putting up high walls and thick defenses, but she had done such things before. She could see the change gradually dawning across the mage's face, a crushing revelation that there was nothing left of fondness between them. Sabal kept up the facade unwavering, knowing that choice had little to do with it.

"I don't know who you are, inquisitor," Alystin said. The words were enough to cut through the ice around Sabal's thoughts, leaving a burning hurt behind. She could sense a betrayal, an anger in the mage. But the wilder was left alone to deal with that as the noble stalked off towards the impromtu meeting.

Doing the right thing was more painful than she expected. And how tempting it was to give in. But better a small wound now than a grave one later.

"Goddess, Sabal, you are an ice queen," Nedelyne said with a deep frown as she rejoined the wilder. "I've never seen Aly so upset. She even snarled at Ilivarra."

"Frozen to my core," Sabal muttered, the sharp sting she'd inflicted on herself lingering still in the hollow space beneath her breastbone. "She'll need someone to talk to. I hope you can do that."

"This is your mess. You clean it up," the priestess said firmly. "I'm not going to keep picking up after you."

The wilder bared her teeth in anger, feeling that stifling, choking collar that kept her in check like a tiger on a chain. "My mess?" she snarled, perhaps a little louder than was wise. "When did I choose any of this? When, Nedelyne, did I ask for any of this? I cannot go where I please, do what I please, be who I please, or die as I please. And even if I could, I would still be bound by my vows." She stepped into the cleric's face with that icy cold coalescing into frozen wrath in the center of that hollow hole in her chest. "I have not been my own since the Academy. The further away from me you all are, the better. And how much easier that is when I am distasteful or hateful to you."

Nede held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Settle down, Sabal. That wasn't what I meant."

"It was what I meant," the inquisitor said in a low voice, turning her back to the priestess. She felt like tearing at herself in an effort to just loosen her binds, but knew it would make no difference. They always cut deeper into her soul when she tried as if to make the effort seem even more futile and vain.

The cleric winced slightly, trying not to shy away as the temperature dropped a few degrees near Sabal's dark visage. She was always unapproachable when upset, emotions fueling her powers with or without her say in the matter. "Sabal-"

"_Leave me._" It was not a request, it was an order both spoken and hammered mercilessly into the priestess's thoughts. Nedelyne sighed softly and inclined her head. "As you wish. If you require anything of me, you know where to find me."

Sabal gave no indication that she had heard, a cold shoulder the only thing needed for such a dismissal. Her amber eyes focused only on the darkness ahead and the icy fury turning her insides as bitter and sharp as midwinter frost. She could feel something out in the darkness, watching and waiting.

She was tired of being hobbled by others, of being held back or crippled. The anger sung through her veins like a viper's venom. Why wait? Her instincts murmured. Just us, hunter and hunted. No one else.

She stalked into the shadows like a wraith, sliding her sword free of its sheath. The blade was smoked to a dull, dark gray without a hint of silvery gleam to give her away. This was what she was supposed to be, a whisper in the darkness called Death. Behind, the minds of her companions slowly faded away in favor of the elusive one she could sense ahead, almost wholly obscured by magical protections.

"When I heard she'd sent an inquisitor after me, I hadn't imagined it would be you," a voice said, soft echoes coming from every direction. "I thought, if anyone could refuse the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, it would be you."

"You speak as if you know me, Drisinil," Sabal breathed, her whole being coming into sharp focus as the dance began. She sensed more than saw her opponent's blade in the gloom here. This was a place light had never touched, and even the darkvision of the drow failed here. Neither gave off enough heat to be seen with the enchanted armor and clothes they wore.

"We are more alike than you might imagine," the fugitive's voice said quietly. "She wanted every drop of blood in me, every moment of my time. And the moment I fell short of perfection, she threw me away. Just like she did to you."

Sabal's amber eyes narrowed slightly as she felt an air current shift behind her. "You know nothing about me," she hissed, pivoting on her heel and striking viciously. Steel hit steel in a harsh clash of blades and she could almost taste the sharp fear of her quarry.

The flurry of blows in the darkness followed in a heartbeat, a pandemonium of motion. It was hard to tell whose strike was whose as blades nicked flesh and limbs cracked hard against bodies. Sabal was not against an untrained fighter, after all, but the best education available in Menzoberranzan. But her prey was soft and weak, reflexes dulled by noble living. The wilder dug her fingers into the soft flesh of a throat, struggling to free her blade from a bind for a killing blow. Her fierce amber eyes were centimeters away from wide, almost frightened red ones.

"I am not your enemy," Drisinil rasped out through her bruised trachea, fingernails scraping helplessly against Sabal's armored forearm. "I have not wavered in my devotion to the Goddess. It is a lie."

"I will know the truth of that in a moment," the wilder said through gritted teeth, letting her sword fall to the ground as she snatched for the amulet around the renegade's neck.

Drisinil gasped and tried to pull away, but the delicate chain snapped and Sabal's mind pierced through her thoughts like a burning knife. The drowess's scream was raw and ragged, a surge rippling through the air near them. For her own part, the inquisitor was haffled by the mind she'd encountered. Certainly a priestess. But the necklace had also been...concealing, not simply warding. Drisinil was frail like a leaf in a strong wind, more sensitive to psionics than Sabal had been expecting.

She was a latent: someone with an inkling of the Gift lying dormant.

And, perhaps even more oddly, she had been honest about her devotion. Sabal saw only rebellion against Quenthel. The Spider Queen was still enshrined in daily prayers and occasional libations. The inquisitor had certainly killed many people as undeserving as the dazed priestess at her feet, true, but this would not be a blow in the name of the Goddess if she took it.

Death, Sabal reasoned, came to everyone sooner or later. When she was involved, it was simply more often the former than the latter.

The amber-eyed inquisitor rolled Drisinil over onto her stomach and planted a foot between the younger drowess's shoulderblades even as she snatched up her fallen blade. "Why does Quenthel want you dead if you're her heir?" It might have been easier to just strip the information straight from raw thoughts, but she'd been less than gentle already.

Drisinil slowly brought up a trembling hand to wipe blood away from her nose. She was smart enough not to try and move, stilling obediently when cold steel brushed against the exposed back of her neck. "You have her temper," the cleric said wryly. "As I said, I was not good enough. After Arach-Tinilith when she kept pushing...I had finally had enough. It's my life, not hers. I wanted to live it as it pleased me. Surely you of all people appreciate a longing for freedom."

"I am familiar with the idea," Sabal said dryly. "And why should I help you, Drisinil? The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith is not a woman to be angered on a whim. And I cannot imagine her settling for anything less than an absolute guarantee of your death on a platter with a side-dish of proof." As if to punctuate her point, she let the tip of the blade rest against the back of Drisinil's neck, just between two vertebrae. All she had to do was push, and that would be the end of the matter.

Drisinil twitched her hand, sending a small amulet skittering out onto the open stone. "For this," she murmured, hearing a sharp intake of breath from Sabal.

The inquisitor recognized it, certainly. A perfect copy of the one she wore now with the same strange symbol. "Where did you get that?" she asked, voice harsh and hard.

"The same person who gave you yours."

Drisinil almost cried out in sudden panic when she was siezed and lifted up by her collar, but something akin to relief flashed across her face when she found herself looking into wary amber eyes. "I knew you would help me," she whispered.

"I have yet to promise anything," Sabal warned, measuring their surroundings. There was a rift in the stone to one side of the cavern, a deep drop that landed in marshy decaying plant life crowding the surface of one of the Sirn's sharp turns. Behind and approaching, she could hear the voices of her companions drawing nearer. "Ilivarra Baenre is in that company. Does she know what has become of you?"

Drisinil shook her head. "As far as the Matron and the rest of the House are concerned, I was ambushed with my patrol by Vhaeraunites and killed."

"Then she should not see you," the wilder said. "Meet me at the last standing pillars of Ethren Val. Quenthel will not think to seek you there."

"That's hundreds of miles," the cleric said, eyes wide with fear. "And in the territory of the dwarves of Mithral Hall. They'll slay me on sight!"

"Then do not let them see you. The river will help you on your way," Sabal said. She lashed out, kicking Drisinil solidly in the chest and knocking her backwards through the rift. The young priestess's scream was cut off sharply as she hit the bottom and vanished beneath the water.

Sabal carefully picked up the amulet, blood from her fingers streaking its smooth surface. This would come back to haunt her later, she knew, but the Goddess did not seem unsatisfied. Hopefully she could arrange for the same to be true of Quenthel Baenre.

"Sabal, what happened to you?" Nedelyne damanded once the group had managed to locate her in the gloom, even their acclimated eyes requiring the aid of a tiny magical light.

The inquisitor realized how she looked: covered in blood, bruises, and dirt. Of course, not all of the blood was hers, but the fight had been fearsome. Just behind the cleric's shoulder she could see the cold expression of House Kenafin's noble. "You're late," she said flatly, noting Ilivarra's hint of anxiety at the tone. "Let's go."


	6. Rift

"So talk to her, Aly," Nedelyne grumbled, her feet dangling in the icy water that came rushing over part of the ruin's crumbling wall. They had all recieved their fair share and more of stone bruises, aches, and blisters by the time they reached the ruins. Ilivarra had immediately set to investigating along with the Baenre patrol already waiting when they arrived. The inquisitor had made herself scarce for the most part, glimpses of her occasionally reported along the perimeter as she prowled on her own sort of special watch.

"And say what?" the mage demanded, snapping her spellbook closed with a vicious air. She hadn't had much luck when it came to picking and choosing what to prepare for if her help was needed further into the execution. "It's like talking to a walking corpse. The only way she could be more dead inside is if she was decomposing."

"That's not entir-"

"Oh really? And when was the last time you saw a hint of anything in that block of frozen adamantite she calls a heart?" Alystin cut in, her anger still in full strength. Perhaps she was being unreasonable, like Nedelyne's expression suggested, but it was deserved.

"You know, you used to ask about her with worry. Maybe fondness," the priestess said, deftly changing tactics. "Perhaps she's being this way because she knew you would change on her like this. Or, you know, perhaps there are other reasons."

"Don't try that on me, Nedelyne Druu'giir," Alystin warned hotly. "You can dodge the questions of anyone else in the world, but not mine."

"Fine. Right after you two had finished speaking when I went to give her an earful. It didn't go...well. And I haven't been able to speak to her since then," the priestess said, pulling her feet out of the water. They felt better, if chilled to the bone. "But if you want to know what was said, ask her. Unless the all-knowing mage is afraid she's wrong about something so simple, that is."

"Fine, I will," Alystin growled before stalking off. It earned a little smile from Nedelyne. Years had passed, but enough needling could still always get the mage moving in the right direction.

"Nedelyne!"

The sound of Ilivarra shouting for her desperately, voice tinged with panic, was enough to send the priestess tearing down through the ruins barefoot, dodging sharp shards of rocks with a fevered speed.

"What?" she demanded, catching Ilivarra by the forearms as they almost collided.

"It's gone!" House Baenre's priestess hissed. "The artifact is gone!"

* * *

Sabal turned the amulet over in her fingers again, studying the small inscription of Drisinil's name on the back. In her other hand she held the one she had worn for as long as she could remember, with its many scars and scratches from a lifetime of less careful care. The two now that she held them side by side were not precisely the same, clearly both worked by less than steady hands. They were imperfect, crafted by labor rather than magic. Someone had put effort into this, as though it mattered to them. And clearly not Quenthel, as Sabal could hardly imagine the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith bothering to toil over a little carving for hours.

Did this mean once she had mattered to someone? Someone she shared with Drisinil? The priestess's words had clearly suggested such a connection. But as Sabal searched her earliest memories and found only a vague and blurry void, she wondered if perhaps she was only making herself see substance in shadows. Her thoughts drifted back to the envelope she had burned and all the records it contained. Was that an answer?

She hadn't ever felt any need to reconsider that decision. Xullae had found her, sacrificed everything so that she could succeed, and even died to save her. She'd had no interest in whoever left her in the House of Abandonment. Nor did she now, to be honest. The amulet was an academic curiosity at best. It was Drisinil that she wanted to hear out.

Despite everything, the priestess had trusted her. _I knew you would help me._

And if there was some connection there, was it worth trying to kindle? Or should it be burned away like everything else in her life? Sabal felt the bitter taste rise in the back of her throat again. Ryld had warned her. Xullae had set an example, if an imperfect one. Yvonnel had lectured her.

Alone, always and forever. It was a fate she could try to escape all she liked, only to have it hunt her down and ruin her. Better to simply accept it for the sake of others than struggle in vain, she'd been told. But she'd also been taught to fight, to survive no matter what. The two were not easily reconcilable.

Goddess, but she wanted a fight. She wanted to lash out with everything she had and just rend something, someone, completely apart. The ache in her head made her feel like her skull was about to crack.

Sabal tucked the two pendants away in a pocket inside her armored vambrace, and then she paused for just a moment, gathering her will. She left her blade lying against the stone, grateful that she was away from the others and had some privacy. The power was already coalescing around her right fist, air alive with invisible might as she slowly let open a part of the dam that held her maelstrom feelings at bay.

_You have nothing that cannot be taken from you!_ she snarled inside her own thoughts, slamming her fist against a stone stalagmite. The shattering of soft limestone felt wonderfully relieving, her hand unharmed aside from some soreness in her knuckles and a few scratches from stray chunks of stone. She aimed to continue until she could feel blood running down her fingers, estimating that would tire her enough so that she would be able to focus more clearly but not so much that she was useless in a fight.

_You ruin everything you touch!_ Her foot collided with the same pillar, shielded by the rippling force that had struck first. The crunch was loud and satisfying, powdered limestone lingering in the air nearby. Her greave absorbed most of the pain, though there was a fleeting ache in her shin.

_You are a tool of people who care nothing for anything beyond themselves!_ Her armored left fist connected solidly enough that there was a slight throb in her fingers as she uncurled them and shook them out. She snarled at the stone, thinking of the people who had used to rely on her that were either betrayed or abandoned. She struck again with a sharp, strong cross and felt the jolt of pain shoot up into her wrist.

"Bad time?" Alystin asked quietly. She'd only been watching for a few seconds, but it was long enough for a glimpse beyond the inquisitor's frozen shell. There was so much anger, bitterness, and resentment. A panther painfully aware of its cage. She had been wrong when she spoke to Nedelyne, she acknowledged reluctantly. The wilder was not dead inside yet.

She was like Sinjss, Alystin decided. Someone all too eager to inflict pain on others when their omnipresent temper flared.

"Depends," Sabal said without looking over, still in a loose fighting stance. She was always moving on the balls of her feet, chin tucked down with her hands out in front of her face for protection. Her fists were loose, ready to grab or twist if necessary. "Say what you need to say."

Alystin's jaw tightened slightly and her fingers brushed against her staff. Maybe her problem was that she'd been too polite, too calm. Sometimes fire was better fought with fire.

Sabal hadn't honestly been expecting the powerful blow that hit her from the side, but such was the punishment for being unwary. She coughed and choked as she got to her feet, her armor smoldering as residual crackles of arcane magic danced from clasp to clasp. Alystin was glaring at her, still in her casting position. "Look at me when I talk to you," the noble said harshly.

For the first time in a long time, Sabal was bewildered. But the blow and anything to follow was deserved, she acknowledged. "Understood," she said, ignoring the ache in her ribs. Her amber eyes watched the mage's next move carefully.

"You know, some of us value certain things. Like trust, for example," Aly said sharply, her staff flat against the forearm of her back hand. Her spells were as subtle in their casting as ever: a syllable under the breath or a brief, small gesture.

The inquisitor's body reacted while her mind was distracted, leaping out of the way of a hurled bolt of lethal ice. But even as her training screamed for her to retaliate, she refused to. _I will not strike down Aly_. It was the same part of her mind that refused to let her forget the moment she had driven a blade through her mentor's throat.

"You do not abandon the people who trusted you this way, A'Daragon!" The next spell was a particularly vicious and well-aimed fireball. Sabal threw up her arms to shield her face, the searing heat eating through weak spots in her armor.

She wanted to just stop and say everything she'd been thinking and feeling since she made it back to the city, but that wasn't how it had to be. After all, Xullae had trusted her too. And how had that ended? Instead, Sabal ignored the burns on her arms beneath her smoking armor and lowered them back into a ready position. She could sense Aly's temper rising every second she didn't retaliate. The mage was not often riled, and sometimes it seemed the only people who could get under her skin were those she held the closest.

"No word from you?" Alystin demanded, arcane energy crackling to life again in the palm of her hand.

"Nothing I say will satisfy you," Sabal said evenly, hands still up as she started to circle in step with the prowling mage. With the way this was going, she would need to start at least defending herself. "I know you are angry, and not without cause."

"Angry is only scratching the surface, Sabal. I waited for word with baited breath for years and not a single letter ever came from you! But you talked to Nede. And when you do come slinking back to Menzoberranzan, you don't have the courtesy to even greet me until it can't be avoided?"

Sabal bared her teeth in response. "You think I was permitted that privilege? Nedelyne I could speak to only when we were on the same patrols or she found me with the Yath'Abban. The vows-"

A giant stone fist slammed into her torso, flinging the wilder into a wall more than ten feet back. She fought for air amidst the raging pain of her cracked ribs and bruised spine, each breath a ragged cough sucked in with desperation. "I'm tired of hearing about your bloody rules or your duties or your thrice-damned vows, Sabal! If it had mattered to you, you would have made it happen. I know you well enough to know that," Alystin snapped, closing the distance with confident strides. The fires of her anger had a way of burning away all that self-consciousness.

Sabal felt...cold. In the face of the inferno before her she had no feelings that could force her on. Too many soft, weak things like regret and sorrow clouded that strength. How could she be angry with Aly for something she had done herself? Ice and fire. They made a strange, dangerous pair. "I...thought...it would...be better...if I...stayed away..." she forced out through pained gasps.

"And how's that working out for you?" Alystin said, almost hoping to goad Sabal on. This felt unsatisfying, wrong without an equal or even stronger force shoving her back. The wilder had never faltered before. But in those once so familiar amber eyes, she saw some internal battle rather than anger or resentment or vengeance.

"Nothing I...say will...change this," Sabal said, struggling up to her feet. Goddess, she hadn't hurt this badly in a long time. The mage's aim had gotten much, much better. "Fix this..."

"Hit back, damn you," Alystin hissed. "Let's see what you're made of. Or are those wounds too honest for you?"

Sabal felt a flicker off to the side and knew danger when she felt it. Their battle had drawn attention. She lunged forward, bulling Aly to the ground with her shoulder. The beating she'd just taken did nothing for her reflexes, however, and a crossbow bolt punched through the armor on her side already weakened by fire. The surge of pain earned a snarl from the wilder, who felt the cold fury surge to life. _How dare they?_

She abandoned her quarrel for this new danger, leaping over a low stone ridge to face their assailants. Needless to say, she had their attention, which gave her hope. The stunned and winded Alystin would be able to keep her head down.

There were three armored male drow crouching in the shadows with crossbows at the ready. She flexed her fingers with a hint of a predatory grin. This was a target she wouldn't hesitate to vent her ire on. Even as her physical body closed the distance in another vaulting jump, her mind hit with the force of a ballista, shattering the lead male's mind and striking his friends with the ripple effect. His scream was one of animal agony, stopping with his heart before his body could hit the ground. In the fury of battle, all of Sabal's unnecessary thoughts vanished like a fog. Her will flowed into a piercing blade, an arrowhead, a weapon. _Stalk. Strike. Slay_. It was the mantra of any hunter in the Wilds.

Alystin scraped herself up with a string of curses, casting a spell to set off the alarms she'd helped put up around the edge of camp. That bolt should have hit her, she knew. However, that was a mystery to be solved when they actually had time.

Reinforcements were on their way in moments even as Sabal vanished deeper into the wilds after her prey. "Alystin, where are they?" Ilivarra asked through panting breaths, drawing even with the mage as Calzaer loped up the steep slope behind her.

"With Sabal," she said before weaving a powerful spell to seal off their escape.

"Bring one alive!" Ilivarra shouted after the wilder. "They stole something and the Goddess will want it back!"

Sabal emerged from the shadows moments later, dragging a struggling male drow by his face. Where her gauntlet's fingers came to sharp, claw-like points, there was blood from punctured flesh. But aside from that and a severe beating from raw psionic force unleashed, he seemed to lack serious wounds. "As you wish, Revered Ilivarra," she said, dropping the man in the open. "The others are dead."

Sabal's amber eyes seemed to glow with life here on the battlefield, cheeks flushed from the rush of combat. She tossed a small emblem to the priestess of House Baenre. "Recognize this?"

"How in the Nine Hells did one of our own soldiers end up attacking us?" Calzaer demanded, staring at the insignia over Ilivarra's shoulder.

"Sabal, who sent him here?" the priestess asked cautiously. "And conventional methods first, if you please."

Sabal seized the male drow by his face again, hauling him up to stare into her feral eyes. "You heard the priestess," she snarled.

Alystin had to admit, this display of intimidation was not something she had ever expected to come from the normally stoic and calm wilder. She wondered what beast their fight had awoken in her former friend.

"Y-you did, R-revered Ilivarra," he stammered out. "Here, y-yesterday. After w-we gave y-you the r-relic."

"Impossible. She was with us on the road," Calzaer said furiously.

"He isn't lying. I would know," Sabal said. She dropped the male drow carelessly, flexing her fingers as if to return circulation to them after her tight hold. "It seems someone has been masquerading as you, Ilivarra. And I know just the man to ask back in Menzoberranzan about who can and would do that."

"Then let's not waste any time," Ilivarra said. She turned her attention to Calzaer. "Scrape him up. The Matron will need someone to vent her ire on. And tell the others we leave for city in the morning. Inquisitor, keep watch just in case this pretender tries to return here."

"Understood," Sabal said smoothly, comfortable with the give and take of power between her and Ilivarra now that boundaries were established.

Calzaer hauled their wounded prisoner away and left Ilivarra to consult with Nedelyne. For her part, Sabal kept silent as she limped back towards camp with her wounds. She did pause for a moment to rip a crossbow bolt out of her thigh. "They weren't prepared. No poison."

Aly sighed and stopped, turning to the battered and bloodied inquisitor. "You're only going to make it worse that way. Hold still."

The mage raised her hands to weave a healing spell, only to have Sabal's fingers trap hers with a gentle insistence. "Don't waste the energy," the amber-eyed drowess said quietly, eyes focused just below the noble's. "Not worth it." The wilder turned and pulled the crossbow bolt out of her side with a sharp exhale and a curse before striding back down the path into the ruins. Alystin understood, though she wished she didn't have to. This was how things had to be now...a drow did not heal a rival, nor accept healing from the same. After all, their 'talk' had not been an understanding one.

It was not a rift Alystin was certain she could fix.


	7. Two Places At Once

Ryld leaned against the doorframe quietly, watching in silence as the inquisitor stripped off her damaged armor to reveal bloodied cloth and bandages beneath. Some days it was hard to reconcile the frightened girl of so long ago with the battle-scarred veteran that now moved through the halls in frozen silence. She made a good drowess, everyone admitted. Perhaps one who denied herself certain normal indulgences far more than her fellows, but a devoted servant of Lolth and a merciless killer when the need arose. Duty was duty, after all. It was a path he had helped set her on, a path others had made her walk. And she might have resented it, but she never refused it.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he asked quietly as she peeled off the black silk shirt she wore beneath her armor, reinforced with fine mithril chain at the joints and similar chinks.

"How can someone be in two places at once, Ryld?" Sabal asked without turning around, stripping off the even bloodier layer of white cloth beneath. A lifetime of sharing space with others tended to make one less than self conscious, and he took the time to study the scars on her back. All had been earned in battle, as she had little reason to fear the whip of a priestess or the scourge of a slave-driver. "Ilivarra Baenre stole an artifact while simultaneously being in our company on the way to retrieve it."

"I heard about that," he said pleasantly, claw-like hand coming to rest at his side as she fished out a fresh shirt. "And I may have an answer for you, if you recall the favor I asked of you."

"You think House Kenafin is responsible?" the wilder said. He knew she was raising an eyebrow without even having to look.

"I think it is entirely possible Chardalyn may have sought an advantage over her rivals, even those among her own house. Kenafin was already preparing for an assault to elevate itself to a higher echelon. If the Matron discovered her less than orthodox chain of custody over House Baenre's artifact, Chardalyn could easily justify it as an object of value for the Kenafin cause," the scarred male drow said. Despite the somewhat abrasive relationship they had at times, they had fallen into a comfortable routine. When she needed help locating a target, he provided. And when he needed some of her rather special skills, she returned the favor. They both served the Church in their own ways, and that meant a level of cooperation foreign to most drow. But completely distrusting everyone could only bring ruin. Better to keep bonds of trust both few and secret.

"And yet I hear words unspoken," the inquisitor said, turning around now that she was dressed in clean clothes and her armor was heaped on the table. She hadn't decided whether to repair it or just have a new set commissioned. Probably the latter, as she could guess that some of those weak spots would never be repaired.

"I sincerely doubt Chardalyn will be informing House Kenafin she has it. They will likely remain unaware until she can bring its power to bear against the Matron and take over, in fact," he said, just a hint of a grin twitching on his twisted lips. "I'd call it misuse of Church property, but I imagine any priestess would do much the same."

"Those politics are not the business of inquisitors," Sabal said, moving to the wash basin full of warm water. Being back in her barren cell still had its comforts, mostly being able to clean her face and hands without having to worry about saving enough to drink. And a real bed. And Nym, who scuttled faithfully at her heels with clicking mandibles as he murmured to himself. "As far as I am concerned, this business can all be shoveled onto Yvonnel's lap."

"I'll pass that on. Oh, and Sabal? The Yochlol have asked for you," Ryld said.

She cursed as he turned and left, splashing water across her face and scrubbing it dry with a towel quickly before moving to the chapel of the Yath'Abban. It was better, they'd found, to keep such meetings in a place where the only observers were the initiated. It always made lower priestesses suspicious, because they were barred entrance while such audiences went on, but everyone accepted this as the dictate of the Church in its unified power.

The air was thick with incense and smoke when she stepped in, great clouds obscuring most of the chapel and anything that wished to lurk out of sight. It was silent like the grave, save for the occasional pop or crackle from the low-burning braziers that provided the dimmest of lights, just enough to cast strange and twisted shadows against the skeletal pillars bearing up the arched ribs of the chapel ceiling. The altar still gleamed from fresh sacrifice, blood and ribbons of flesh lying as the last remains of an offering to the cruelly smiling Goddess who gazed downwards through eyes of stone. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, but the statue seemed even more exultant just after offerings of a suffering mortal.

"You are troubled, Sabal. Is there something you desire?" a voice purred in her ear from just behind her, the yochlol so close in its drow form that it was almost, but not quite touching her.

"Only the pleasure of your conversation, ussta jallil," Sabal said, lowering her eyes in deference. She did not move lest it displease the Goddess's handmaiden. "I was told you wished my presence."

"Correct."

Sabal barely managed to force down a shiver at the ghost sensation of fingers brushing down her spine. It was less fear than extreme discomfort, but much to her relief, the yochlol circled and moved so that they were speaking face to face. Even the flat, lifeless eyes of a demon trying to impersonate a normal drow were welcome provided Sabal had them in easy reach if push came to shove. But showing that feeling would be disaster, so she bore it in silence.

"There are creatures of sunlight coming to Menzoberranzan to destroy what House Baenre requested you help retrieve. The surface fears its wrath in the hands of the Spider Queen's champions. And they are right to fear. But you will hunt them down and slay them, however many there are and however long it takes," the yochlol said smoothly, studying every minute hint of feeling in Sabal's face. If it saw something, it did not say so. "Understood?"

"Yes, _ussta jallil_." The specific questions were better left to ask the Eyes of Lolth, who no doubt had already been informed. Yvonnel was quite efficient when it came to passing orders down the chain of command.

"Good. I am certain I need not remind you of the price of failure."

Sabal bowed her head to acknowledge the yochlol's instructions, seeing no reason to make herself a target. They tended to see obedient, deferrential servants as boring, whereas anything that tried to flee or resist deserved to be an object of amusement. Like a cat with a mouse, really. She never envied the prey.

"You may go," it said with an air of growing boredom, clearly eager to find a victim that would squirm.

"Thank you, _ussta jallil_." She was ever eager to walk out of those doors.

* * *

"Just couldn't leave it alone, could you?"

Alystin jumped at the unfamiliar, rasping male voice and almost dropped the dwarven trinket she'd been examining. She'd come to Sabal's quarters hoping to actually talk now that her temper had cooled, but the inquisitor was nowhere to be found. Granted, the young male drow had been able to let her in right before he was ambushed by a particularly enthusiastic and large spider.

A scarred, deformed male drow with a face eaten away and distorted by magic strolled in. He had the gall to wink at her, then turned his attention to the little gyroscope she had in her hands. "I really do like that thing. Inquisitor A'Daragon can make it dance without even touching it. I try, and it wobbles all over. You've quite the eye for detail, Honored Alystin. But I don't suppose trinkets are what bring a noble of House Kenafin here."

Alystin set the thing back on its shelf, one of the few personal objects in the barren room. It'd surprised her when she first came in. After all, she'd assumed any female drow could request better, particularly those serving the Church. But then again, Sabal had never been extravagant in her tastes. "I don't know you, and yet you know me. You are not an inquisitor, clearly, and yet you may pass freely in one's quarters without rank or status," she observed quietly, studying the male bold enough to act with such confidence. "You are a very strange little man."

"So they tell me," he said with a chuckle. "I'm not terribly important, you see, but I do know things. Kind of my job around here. I also happen to be close to Inquisitor A'Daragon, so being in her quarters isn't that unusual." Ryld saw a hint of a storm coming and held up his hands. "Not like you're thinking. Our relationship is all duty and drinking."

Alystin looked pacified by this, though she did make a small noise of displeasure. "And you wanted what?"

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Honored Alystin. Don't let it trouble you. No, I wanted to talk to you about Sabal. She needs you," he said, the trace amounts of smugness fading by the end of his comment.

"She made it rather clear that she didn't, actually," the mage snapped, feeling uncomfortably off balance. How could the bastard read so much so quickly? And furthermore, what was he taking away from this?

"So I gathered. But there's a rather large disconnect at times between what Sabal feels and what she does. The life of an inquisitor is dangerous, even more so than the average scheming noble's. There are many enemies who might press any advantage, or corruption that could come from anywhere. Were you to break off contact in a violent rage, you would be isolated from such threats. Xullae's instruction was rigorous and one of the foremost lessons was that every sacrifice is required of inquisitors for the sake of the Church and others. That means leaving friends, family, children, and lovers behind. Sabal was told before she took her vows that this was expected of her. And when she bound herself to the Spider Queen's service, she was forced to see the reality of it," Ryld said casually, strolling in to examine an Underdark map pinned up on the wall. He could feel Alystin's eyes on him the whole time.

"Why?" she asked finally.

"Because when an inquisitor is hesitant, thousands of lives are lost. When an inquisitor is wrong, cities fall. When an inquisitor is selfish, armies are utterly destroyed. Our way of life is precarious at best. They exist to guard from the threats that no one else will ever even know was there. Without inquisitors making every sacrifice asked of them, we would have long ago fallen."

Alystin crossed her arms defensively. "You say that she needs me and then this in the same breath. I do not understand your point, male."

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm getting at, Honored Alystin," the scarred male said with a small smile. It was the expression of a drow who knew a great deal indeed. "Amin sinta thaliollema dagor. You can have Sabal or your mistress. But not both."

He knew the pass phrase. It felt like the whole world had been ripped out from under her feet and she'd plunged into the dark, frozen Demonweb itself. Gray eyes widened and lips parted in shock. "H-h-h-how?"

"The eyes of the Goddess are everywhere, _og'elend_," Ryld said smoothly. "How fortunate that it was I who found you out. Sabal does not know, as in this it is not my place to tell her. That choice is yours. But you know what her duty dictates." The male tossed her a small gleaming piece of silver, a pendant with a broken chain.

It was the only symbol of Eilistraee she'd dared keep, but caution had finally prompted her to discard it weeks ago. He'd known...seen. She wanted to say something, to deny it, but it didn't matter. And he was helping her?

"If you try to keep both worlds together, the cost will be something you alone do not pay," Ryld said. "It is not a secret that can be kept forever. Not from the Church, not from your house, not from Sabal. If I were you, I would be halfway to the surface right now."

"I can't do what you ask of me," Alystin whispered, still staring down at the holy symbol. "I will not abandon the light...or Sabal."

* * *

**og'elend** - **heretic**


	8. Only Fools Trust

Sabal stepped into her quarters with a sigh, noting that Nym was resting up in his large corner web near a silk-shrouded meal of some kind. Perhaps it was simply because she was a creature of habit, but she noted before anything else that some of the items on her shelf of momentos were not where she had left them. But she relaxed almost as soon as she'd tensed when she realized who her guest was. "I'd assumed you would be back at House Kenafin. Bring your fireballs with you again?" Sabal said, raising an eyebrow slightly as she studied the mage perusing the volumes she kept for research. Most were reference tomes on particular factions or creatures of the Underdark, some historical, and one or two religious books.

"I think they prefer my absence," Alystin said quietly, turning around. "And I didn't want to leave things as they were. I...we...I'm not very good at talking, I'm sorry. I know things can't be what they were. I've changed. You've changed. But could we try to start over with something new?"

Goddess, but it was tempting. Sabal took a deep breath to clear her head. "And what do you expect from it?"

"Nothing. You are an inquisitor, after all. But I can always hope for more than that," Aly said. They were carefully dancing around apology and pride, fresh wounds and old scars. "And I'd like a chance to find out who you are now. Maybe let you do the same?"

"I...would enjoy that," Sabal murmured quietly. A few coversations couldn't hurt. She motioned for Alystin to take a seat. "How have things been?"

There was something so comfortable to the way they talked, Alystin's ever thoughtful tales of life in her house a balm to the aches that pained the wilder. Neither would likely ever apologize, but glances could say more than any speech. And there were many of those shared between soft words.

It was a chance to remember what had drawn her to the mage in the first place: a subtle grace, a calm and collected intelligence, a quiet smile. The movements and lines of the noble's face were striking and gentle at the same time, drow pride tempered with something warmer. Alystin had always been sensitive about her looks, feeling inadequate next to her sisters with their line of conquests that read like the city's dramatis personae. But if she could see herself through the amber eyes watching her now whenever she wasn't looking, that would change. Sabal could think of nowhere else she would rather be than in this company.

"Still listening?" Aly asked with a hint of a smile, looking up from her hands to notice she was being studied. "Because it's your turn to talk now."

"I'm very boring," Sabal said dismissively. "The Church gives me orders, I obey. I was away from Menzoberranzan for some time clearing out some trouble and tracking a few agent provocateurs. Good use of my training, I suppose, if at times frustrating. That's all."

The mage noticed a small flash of ivory when Sabal moved her hand ever so slightly. "You still have the ring I gave you?" she said, surprise easily readable across the surface of her mind and her expression alike.

"Of course," the wilder said, making certain the words came slowly and not over-eagerly. "It has been quite useful."

Alystin seemed pleased, reaching out to touch the ivory band and the hand that wore it. Sabal flinched slightly at the contact, but did not pull away. Perhaps it was the arcane power that always clung to her mage, but the brief brush of contact felt like an electric jolt to Lloth's servant. She noted the smallest shifts of expression around gray eyes, concentration for a moment forming the slightest of lines in Alystin's brow. And then the mage's gaze was on her expectantly. Sabal almost cursed, realizing she had completely failed to hear the last comment from the mage.

"Sorry, what?" she said, unwilling to pull back her hand and uncertain if she was permitted to keep it there.

"I said that the enchantments are almost wholly destroyed. Those must have been some battles you were in. But I could easily repair it for you." Aly's expression turned amused. "You have more trouble focusing than I remember."

"Well..." she paused, for once without a good response.

"The ever-ready Sabal A'Daragon caught flat footed? How jealous Nede would be if I told her!"

Sabal winced for effect. "And ruin my image of guarded wit? Crueler than I expected of you, Aly."

"Perhaps you don't know me so well, inquisitor," the noble teased lowly, fingers brushing ever so lightly across Sabal's knuckles. It was a tap on boundaries to feel out the water, subtle enough that she was secure. She felt something change in the way the wilder looked at her and quickly blanked her surface thoughts.

Sabal's gaze flickered slightly in surprise and possibly even uncertainty. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "But perhaps I would like to." Her native caution was warning her away from the situation as dangerously difficult to read, but that same old magnetism that propelled her towards the mage now held her in place.

Goddess, the war between instincts raging beneath the surface of her mind was enough to drive anyone to madness. Teachings of solitude and security were barely restraining a nature conditioned to take what it wanted. She felt her temples start to ache and pulled her hands away to press against her head.

"Are you unwell?" Alystin asked, leaning forward slightly with concern in her gray eyes.

"You should go," Sabal murmured. "But you are welcome to find me another cycle."

"As you like. It might be better to keep this a secret for both our sakes," the mage said, rising from her seat. There was no explanation needed: life in Menzoberranzan was full of danger. But one didn't need to invite it in. In public, they would need indifference and perhaps antagonism to stay safe.

"Wise," Sabal said, still holding her head. But even after Aly's retreat, the maelstrom did not abate.

* * *

"Sinjss, thank the Goddess," Drisinil breathed, dropping her blade beside the dead hook horror that had nearly torn her apart. The last thing she had expected was to see a friendly face out here in the wilds. She'd lost her nerve to head so close to the surface and the dwarves, but returning to her home city was hardly an option. So she'd gone deeper. Foolish, of course, as she was now well aware. The cold crept in through her ravaged armor and clung to the moisture of blood until her teeth started to chatter. Every bone in her body ached in protest of every breath, every movement. She wanted to just collapse and sleep, particularly since now she had someone to watch over her.

The priestess from House Kenafin motioned for the patrol with her to lower their weapons, surprise plain in her features. She stepped close to the younger drowess, pulling ahead a ways to talk. Much of Sinjss had changed little since her first meeting with Sabal, at least in appearance. But time had a way of working an invisible magic over people. "Drisinil, what are you doing here? I thought you'd fled Menzoberranzan."

"I wouldn't have made it without your warning," Drisinil breathed, leaning heavily on the tunnel wall as they spoke. She was bruised and battered, but alive. That was what mattered. Maybe Sinjss could help her again, offer her a way out or at least someone to talk to. She could barely stand to to be alone out in the tunnels, only necessity driving her away from the company of others. She'd grown up in a city all her life. "But the inquisitor after me was Sabal A'Daragon. She let me go."

"Here," Sinjss said, holding out a waterskin to her wounded friend. There was something measuring in her crimson eyes, something cautious. "Why did she help you?"

Drisinil drank deeply, the cold water returning life to her aching body. It felt like it had been years since she last was safe. There was a hint of bitterness, but she ignored it. Sustenance was rare here, and even rarer water that was not brackish or tainted. "I let her read my thoughts so she knew the truth. I guess it satisfied her."

"I'm surprised. They've been whispering all kinds of things about you in the city," Sinjss said in a low, worried tone. As sympathetic as her expression was, it was impossible to hide the little tremor of doubt in her voice. As if the one person Drisinil was counting on to believe her innocence was reconsidering.

"What things?" Drisinil asked, looking up with wide eyes. She tried to reach out for her friend's arm and lost her balance, stumbling. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so well, head swimming and light with every movement. Her words felt thick and slow, but she forced herself on despite it. She had to tell Sinjss the truth. "I swear I haven't renounced the Goddess."

Sinjss caught her as the world started to swim and a creeping numbness spread through her mouth and throat to weight her limbs down. The younger priestess could barely focus on the red eyes gazing down at her so impassively. "I know, Dris, I know," Sinjss whispered in her ear as Drisinil's legs buckled beneath her own weight. "But you will."

There was no answer from Quenthel's daughter, only confusion flickering across quickly glazing eyes and the silent question in parted lips of what had been in the water. The last instant of clarity the younger priestess had was focused entirely into realizing she had been betrayed.

"Take her," Sinjss called back to the others, waiting at a small distance. "And make certain that no word of her fate gets out. She'll be useful yet." Then the older priestess leaned down and said gently into the unconscious noble's ear, "Nothing personal."


	9. If

Ryld settled down into a chair in Yvonnel's study, his twisted face breaking into a little smile as the priestess stepped in. "You seem displeased."

The Revered Daughter made a noise of disapproval and frowned ever so slightly at the repulsive male. "It's been half a year and I was just forced to explain to Matron Baenre that we haven't been able to recover the artifact stolen from her. You can imagine how much I enjoyed that, no doubt."

"Ah, but the Matron Mother is such a charming woman," Ryld said with a chuckle. "I do hope you offered her my sympathies."

"I might have been better served offering her your head. She was not pleased. But Triel is not why I called you here," Yvonnel said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Where in the Demonweb is Drisinil Baenre?"

Ryld coughed into his fist. "That question is not an easy one to answer, Revered Yvonnel. Sabal informed me that she never arrived at the ruins for their meeting, but did confirm your suspicions. Drisinil was no heretic."

Yvonnel's brow furrowed slightly as she frowned, manicured nails tapping staccato rhythms of irritation on the arm of her chair. "This is wrong, Ryld. Something else is going on here. And we have only scraps of fact, little to no evidence keeping them together."

"Everything I have seen indicates nothing more politics and machinations of the houses. That is, to be blunt, hardly our business. The Church endures because it is above much of that," the scarred male said lightly, enjoying the view of Yvonnel's figure. Part of his security in ugliness permitted him to admire without fear that his interest might be noted.

"Two of the most powerful women in Menzoberranzan are making it our problem," Yvonnel said sourly, leaning back in her seat. "Neutrality is a wonderful ideal, but the reality is somewhat more complicated. I think perhaps the Yath'Abban has become altogether too passive. Had we played our cards more aggressively, we would not have had this little problem."

"Subtlety is what I do, Revered Yvonnel," Ryld said. "If you wish to be more overt, I have no advice to give. Usually, however, it is better to keep your strength hidden from your enemies."

"A sound principle, until you want to bring them into line. Personally, I could care less what happens to Quenthel's spawn. But it needs to be demonstrated that Church authority may not be superseded by the whims of a lesser house. And then I want that artifact in Arach-Tinilith's halls where it belongs. The longer it is missing, the more the Spider Queen's displeasure will grow."

"And Sabal?"

Yvonnel inclined her head slightly. "She did better than I had hoped. I think a somewhat longer leash is in order. I'm not an unreasonable woman. But she will need to be ready. If this goes poorly, the inquisitors are the most valuable resource we have."

"I doubt Triel will be pleased with this," Ryld said with a slight chuckle, clawed hand scratching at his chin along the web of scar tissue that twisted his mouth.

"Considering her displeasure with my existence, I would call that par for the course. Quenthel should probably also be informed that her daughter is still devout. Without the threat to her reputation, I expect she will change her mind," the priestess said. She paused slightly, reflecting. "Who stands to gain were Drisinil gone?"

"I asked myself the same question. It would be anything but advantageous for Quenthel. It would be a scandal, but not enough of one to make a move on House Baenre. Triel wouldn't allow herself to be caught up in it. I'll say this for the revered Matron: she knows how to walk through a swamp and stay pristine."

Yvonnel stood up and paced over to the table, pouring herself and Ryld a glass of wine. He could tell she was mulling this over. "No one does anything in this city without a reason," she said, walking back and holding out a crystal glass to him. It was an expensive vintage, from the surface itself. He approved of her taste.

Ryld sipped from the glass, knowing it would be untainted. If anyone were going to poison Yvonnel's wine, it would be the priestess herself and she needed him both alive and useful. "Then someone has a reason."

"And it's very important. Quenthel Baenre is not a woman to be crossed. Only someone with a world to gain and little to lose would dare go down this road. If we find the person who presented Drisinil as a heretic, we find Drisinil. They have too much at stake to allow her name cleared."

* * *

House Kenafin was not quiet, in the worst of ways. Sinjss ground her teeth together, counseling herself to be patient. But by the Goddess, it was not easy. She could hear Chardalyn on the other side of the door, reporting months hard work as if it had been her own. If looks could kill, the door would have crumbled away to dust and Chardalyn would have been blown to pieces.

"You have done well, Chardalyn. You may go," the Matron said, strong voice as clear as a bell.

Sinjss's jaw tightened and her nails bit into the palms of her hands. It had been her that laid those plans so carefully and she was shut out like a petty errand runner. She was a high priestess, a noble!

Patience, she counseled herself as she looked away from the door. A spider was waiting in its web nearby, as still as death. Blissfully ignorant, a small bug trundled towards the silver strands of webbing. Sinjss was always fascinated by encounters such as this and the lessons they brought. The clarity. One delicate little leg found itself stuck, and the bug seemed to panic. But escape was still possible, and so the spider did not move. The insect's struggles increased until it was almost immobilized, and then the spider attacked its meal.

She could have sworn for a moment the arachnid looked up at her, as if to say, Good things come to those who wait.

"You look satisfied with yourself, Sinjss," Chardalyn said after closing the door to the audience hall. The ever-present goading, mocking harmonics remained in the voice of the eldest of House Kenafin's daughters. "And I find myself curious to know why. After all, it has been quite some time since the Matron was last pleased with you."

Sinjss smiled up at her sister in the way of a drowess who knew something no one else did. "Perhaps it simply suits me to serve my house."

"Servitude does suit you," Chardalyn said casually. She was taller and stronger than Sinjss, full of the arrogance that came part and parcel with being firstborn. Once, when they were both girls, Sinjss could remember wishing to be as talented and beautiful as her older sister. But long ago that admiration had turned into a poisonous hate. Not once had Chardalyn ever treated her as an equal. She was perhaps rather decorative furniture or an amusing pet. At least, until the eldest needed something. Then Sinjss was elevated to the level of mindless tool.

"So they tell me," Sinjss said pleasantly, looking back at the web. The little insect's struggles were growing so impossibly weak now as it was quickly wound into a silken cocoon. Someday perhaps she would know the satisfaction that spider felt when it sank its fangs into its victim.

"Sometimes I wonder if you've been struck too many times in the head, the way you smile like an idiot at nothing," Chardalyn said more harshly, irritated by the complete lack of real response from Sinjss.

"I am amused. That is all. Consider it a jest that you wouldn't understand."

"When I am Matron-"

Chardalyn was cut off by a laugh from her younger sister. Sinjss rose with a smile on her face and even in her crimson eyes. "When, is it?" she said genially. "How bold."

"Do you see any capable rivals in the House?" Chardalyn said with a raise of her eyebrow, ire growing slowly.

Sinjss brushed past her sister to head down the hall, but just as she passed, she smiled and whispered, "If."


	10. Words to Live By

The wilder sat with her hands resting loosely on her knees, attention focused on the apprentices training here in the halls of the Yath'Abban beneath the watchful eyes of their elders. As an inquisitor, someday she would be expected to do the same...just as Xullae had. Would it end the same way? Or would she refuse to become attached and try to strike them down? Relonor was hardly her responsibility, but someday someone would fill the void. Hopefully not for another century or so.

"Ah, Inquisitor A'Daragon, perhaps you would like to contribute to today's lesson?" a deep male voice suggested, breaking her from her thoughts. It was a dread fang she vaguely recognized. His three students looked at her with rapt attention, perhaps even awe. To them, inquisitors were heroes to be worshipped, vessels of an ancient retribution meant for the Spider Queen's foes.

Someday, perhaps they would know the truth. Sabal rose smoothly. "And what lesson are you teaching them?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back.

"The important virtues for life among the Yath'Abban," he said. "No doubt they would find your view interesting, if not illuminating. Whenever you wish, Inquisitor. I yield the floor to you."

Sabal nodded, striding over to the sharpened blade resting nearby. Someone's spare sword, not hers, as the sword was polished to a mirror shine and flawless. It had not seen battle. But in it, she could see her reflection and the distant, wild amber eyes that so many found unsettling. Then her gaze turned to the students who watched as if spellbound, innocence still easily readable in their expressions. Far too young for the Academy, but old enough to begin to understand.

_Peace__,_ she projected into their thoughts, _is __a __lie__. __There __is __only __power__. __Through __power__, __we __find __purpose__. __Through __purpose __we __achieve __victory__. __And __in __victory__, __we __become __free__._

She moved around them now like a predator circling carelessly around something that was not to be hunted. _There is only one law that governs this world, and it is survival. Honor is for the foolish, mercy for the weak, and trust for the careless. You serve the Goddess, and thus all can be forgiven by Her. Where your enemy is weak, strike your hardest. Where he is strong, lure him forth and turn his pride into his death._

Sabal turned, focusing her attention on the smallest boy in front of her. He was skinny and weaker than his companions, bearing the brunt of the abuse the world had to offer. She could feel the resentment in him, the anger. _Do __you __like __your __master__? _she asked in his thoughts.

_I __hate __him__,_ the boy answered in his mind automatically, a tremor of fear coloring his thoughts. His eyes were fixed on the ground as he had been taught, fearing the blow that would come.

_Then __use __it__. __Turn __your __fear __into __resolve__. __Turn __your __hate __into __strength__. __You __have __seen __already __that __the __world __will __give __you __nothing__. __So __take__. __Let__no__one__make__you__flinch__from__your__destiny__._

The blade hissed in an arc barely a hair's breadth from his face and she saw the boy's eyes go wide, but he didn't move. A flinch might have maimed him for life and cost him his vision. There was something different in his gaze now: certainty.

"My lesson is finished," Sabal said, turning back to their mentor. She set the blade down. "Only time will tell if it sank in."

"_Ussta __jallil__,_ why did you speak to me that way?" the boy said quietly. But he did not lower eyes in fear when she turned, and instead bright crimson eyes focused on her own.

His master was quick to chastise him, backhanding the skinny boy. "Do not speak unless spoken to, you gutter trash!" the dread fang snarled.

At that moment, she felt a flicker of...something from the boy. Weak, and yet unmistakable.

Sabal reacted before anyone could even think to process it, slamming her heel into the back of the dread fang's knee and driving him into the ground. Her gauntleted hand seized him by the hair and wrenched his head back even as her mind cut his control over his own limbs. The male drow gave a sharp whimper at the fist threatening to rip his white hair from his scalp. All of the students seemed frozen, even the boy on the ground.

"I wonder what leads a little worm like you to think an inquisitor cannot deal with a single boy," she hissed softly, tightening her grip meaningfully. "Do you propose to dictate what I permit in students?"

"No, _ussta __jallil_," he gasped out when her mind applied a crushing pressure to his own.

She leaned down so her lips were close to his ear. "You are not irreplaceable, male," she breathed softly. "It would take but a moment to find another just as capable. If you ever lay a finger on that boy again, I will wipe you from the slate of existence with all the concern you use in crushing an insect underfoot. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, _ussta __jallil_." He whimpered again as she shoved him forward onto the ground, slowly regaining control of his muscular limbs again.

"What is your name, boy?" Sabal asked, turning to look at the skinny little thing that had been so confident.

He paused in wiping blood from his lip, fear almost crystallizing off of him. "Zyn, _ussta __jallil__._"

"Come." It was a simply spoken command, but he obeyed it like it was a psionic imperative.

Sabal lead the way out into the hall and down into a quiet part of the Yath'Abban barracks. "The voices that you hear...they are not those of the Goddess, are they?" she said as they came to a halt beside a statue of one of Lloth's ancient champions.

"No, _ussta __jallil__._"

Amber eyes narrowed slightly. "You will never call me that again, Zyn. Whether you prefer Inquisitor A'Daragon, Sabal, or 'Teacher' is not my concern. Any are suitable," she said sharply, temper still simmering from her reaction to the dread fang. It would calm as she allowed the power to fade back beneath her more serene surface.

"Teacher?" he whispered softly.

"You have the Gift. Not as I do, but in another form. My own mentor was a psionic warrior, as you have the potential to be. It requires dedication, constant practice, and extreme hardship," she said quietly.

His eyes grew large. "Would I be an inquisitor?"

"If you can finish your training, yes," Sabal said after a brief pause for thought. "Do you have family?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," he said hesitantly, as if fearing a rebuke for speaking without the honorifics. "My mother is a slave...a servant to one of House Baenre's captains."

She raised an eyebrow slightly, urging him to explain.

"She isn't drow," he murmured miserably. "I'm only half. I just look like my father, I suppose."

Sabal knelt down in front of the boy and studied his face for a long moment. He did have an...oddness to his looks. His jaw was too square, the angles in his face blocky instead of sleek. The tips of his ears were not quite pointed enough. "The other children beat you almost every day, didn't they?" she said softly, plucking the memories like strings on a harp. "They'd make you bleed and then point at the droplets on the ground saying, 'You're all human now. There's your two drops of drow right there'."

She could see the tears spring up in his eyes and the slightest quiver of his lip before he bit it hard. "Yes, Inquisitor," he whispered.

"You want to be strong. Strong enough to protect your mother from the males that hurt her. Males like your father," Sabal said, carefully opening up memories deeper. Now she was getting a much better picture of just who her little adopted apprentice was.

Now his eyes were glossy with tears barely kept back. "Yes, Inquisitor."

Sabal framed his face in her hands, carefully smoothing away all of the hurt until he sniffled slightly and was calm. "I will teach you anything you wish to learn, Zyn," she said. "And someday you will be strong enough to make certain she's safe."

"Master Dhauneth said I was worthless, Inquisitor," the boy said, doubt in the depths of his eyes as he wiped them away and she stood up.

"His opinion doesn't matter. Mine does," the wilder said bluntly. "Anyone who tells you that you are worthless is a fool and a liar. You are untrained, unconditioned, and unprepared. But this can change. Now, I want you to take me to your mother. I need to speak with her."

* * *

Alystin laughed, cocking her head slightly at Nedelyne. They were in for drinks to celebrate...come to think of it, she couldn't actually remember. "And she just beat him down? Over a random boy? Goddess, she's a strange one sometimes," the mage said cheerfully. "I wish Sabal were here right now."

"I tsh-ths-thought ysh...you two wa-were on...whasthaword...'s awful, awful termsh," Nedelyne slurred, her head resting on the table. She'd had a lot to drink. Definitely too much. But they were in House Druu'giir, so she felt safe.

"I mean the old Sabal," Aly said with a wave of her hand to cover her slip. Thankfully no one nearby was sober enough or attentive enough to hear it for what it was. "Y'know, the fun and less crazy one."

"I..." Nede giggled and leaned forward, pulling her friend half across the table so they could whisper conspiratorially. "I knowsh...wait...oh, right! I know why she's sh...no, that'sh not right...so diff'rent."

Aly laughed at her friend's struggle with grammar. "You're adorable when you're drunk."

"Shaddup. No, 'cause I seen...sees...saw...oh, vith it. In the chapel! With the y...ys...yuh...yochlol," Nedelyne's brow furrowed as she struggled intensely to focus long enough to get the words teotted out in the right order.

Alystin felt a chill run down her spine. She'd only ever heard stories of Lloth's Handmaidens. What was Sabal doing with something so vile? "Nede, what do you know?" she asked in a low voice, suddenly feeling remarkably sober.

"They sh...said an' she did. Summat to do with her vows. I dunno...she was like a ch...cat! With none of 's claws. A big one."

"You're certain?"

Nede nodded sagely, her face pressed against the nice cold table again. She was going to be miserable when her giddiness wore off and she started to be ill. "Like a really big cat," she murmured.

The mage fought the urge to groan. But even in Nede's current state, the story was most likely accurate, if lacking important details. "You're a priestess, Nedelyne. What's so special about an inquisitor's vows?"

"None of us know, 'cept sh..speshul people. The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, the Matron of the Eyesh, the inquisitors. And a few sh...siv...servants of the Church," the cleric mumbled in slurred and easily disrupted sentences.

"Who is the Matron of Eyes?" Alystin pressed cautiously. She knew this was becoming dangerous territory quickly, but she wanted answers.

"Asked...whatsisface...Ryld the same question once. Jus' looked at me and sh..said, 'A dead woman. And if yoush keep ashking, you will be too.' So that's my answer."


	11. Who Holds the Leash

"I said thrust," Sabal said sternly, slapping Relonor across the back with the flat of her blade hard enough to earn a cry from the young male. "Not flounder forward like a halfwit."

He spun around and lunged at her in pure frustration, anger burning like a fire in his eyes. However, his vengeance was cut short by a foot to the center of his chest that knocked him back on his rear. Amber eyes focused on him with a cool ferocity. If nothing else, at least she took no amusement at his failings.

"What have we learned?" she asked flatly.

"Not to miss," he muttered darkly, crossing his arms.

"I think the point of the lesson is lost on you. Pick up your blade and we'll go again until you learn it," the inquisitor said.

Nedelyne grinned from the sidelines. "Your teaching style hasn't changed, Sabal. I remember a certain mage giving you that look many a time."

"And now she's very dangerous to cross in battle," Sabal said as her student leaped up and took a strong guard position. The two started to circle each other, moving from guard to guard. He'd learned the danger of staying in one too long some months ago after a sound beating. Perhaps he did hate how impatient she could be, but under the inquisitor's tutelage he was improving by leaps and bounds. At least she hadn't made him scrub anything lately. His next attack was swatted aside, but he managed to recover himself without a new bruise thanks to a quick parry and a reposte that almost made Sabal break her tempo. He felt much better about himself for a moment.

"Have you thought about not trying to pound the knowledge through his head? I hear a lack of skull fractures actually improves the memory," Nede called from the sidelines with an impish grin, readying a healing spell to handle potential injuries.

"You coddle him," Sabal said, sweeping his blade aside with ease and driving her elbow into his jaw with enough force to lay him out flat on his back. Her blade slammed into the mat next to his head, earning a violent flinch from her student. "You would be dead if I wished it. But you did better this time. Why?"

"I stopped and collected myself," the young male panted, his jaw already starting to bruise. The blow had been a vicious one. "I was still angry, but calm and angry."

"It seems not all of my lessons are unheeded," Sabal said with a brief nod, pulling him up to his feet. "Nede, if you would? We are finished here."

The priestess's healing was far less gentle than Aly's, but effective all the same. Threads of golden magic glimmered as she wove a spell over the young male's jaw. In a moment, she was finished. "Nothing broken, by some miracle," Nedelyne said. "Expect some swelling and stiffness. I did what I could. Now off to your other lessons. Sabal and I need to talk."

The inquisitor waited until after her pupil had run off to raise an eyebrow at Nedelyne. "I hope this isn't about Alystin."

"As much as I would love to scold, no. Ilivarra and I have been looking into the artifact that disappeared. It involved more cooperation than I'd care to ever try again, to be quite honest. But our houses do have some records that were helpful. It's an item of some kind that substantially increases the power of a priestess. Our best guess was a ring or amulet, as that's quite easy to conceal. Were it an obvious weapon, we'd have heard about it by now. But it's been more than six months. They've easily gone to ground."

Sabal frowned deeply as she checked the edge of her practice blunt for imperfections. There were a few she would need to sand out so she didn't lay her student open, though she had no doubt that would teach him to tighten up his form. "And any surface movements?"

"Nothing in the tunnels. Your paranoia is apparently unwarranted for once," Nedelyne said with a shrug. "In fact, things seem quite calm and quiet. Too quiet. It makes me uncomfortable."

The inquisitor relaxed ever so slightly. "Good to hear I'm not the only one. I suppose we're best off just keeping our eyes open. I'll tell Ryld to keep hunting for leads on where the artifact went and who has it. People can hide, but not from him. Anything else?"

"Yvonnel wants to talk to you. She's in a mood, and you're apparently the reason why."

* * *

"I did not approve this recruitment," Yvonnel said flatly, temper well in check as she glared straight at the almost painfully unrepentant eyes of the wilder. Sometimes the damn girl reminded her so much of Xullae it was hard to believe she wasn't really the former inquisitor's flesh and blood.

Sabal arched one eyebrow delicately, expression fathomless. She knew Yvonnel hated it when she put up a wall between her emotions and her body, as every priestess did. They hated being unable to manipulate others. "The boy expressed talent. I believe it was you, Revered Yvonnel, who was bemoaning to me the lack of fresh initiates for the Order. And if he is insufficient to the task, then he'll die in training. The Church loses nothing."

It was with a certain amount of vengeful satisfaction that she saw the priestess's hands tighten furiously the bottle as she poured herself a glass of wine. However, Yvonnel was never one to miss a beat. "What the Church does or does not lose is hardly the point. It is the principle of the thing," the priestess said, composing herself. "If you ever flout my authority like this again, I'll have you beaten until you are begging for death. And yes, I am aware that this will require several people exhausting themselves with your damnable tenacity. And this arrangement with the human slave that spawned him is an equally flagrant abuse of the privileges you are allowed."

She turned around to face the slightly mystified looking wilder, reading that perfectly. _Oh, you wicked girl..._

"I have no idea what you speak of, Revered Yvonnel. If we happen to have that particular woman about, I wouldn't know. It's one of the servants who arranges the purchase of the Yath'Abban's lower staff," Sabal said simply.

"And who precisely recommended House Baenre, more particularly their slave trainer, Zautrek?" Yvonnel demanded, fighting the urge to grind her teeth until molars started cracking.

"Ryld may have contributed some advice."

For a moment, Yvonnel's expression of barely restrained rage took on an almost martyred aspect and she clapped the heels of her hands to her temples. "Of course he did," she muttered. "Whenever anyone in this entire institution undercuts my authority, that horrible little weasel has his twisted claws in it somehow."

"I believe his knack for doing that is why you keep him around as an Eye of Lolth," Sabal said, humor making the corners of her mouth twitch up slightly into the barest hint of a smile.

"More the fool, I. Fine, your pet gutter snipe will report to Inquisitor Xalyth for training. As a wilder, you're hardly a fit instructor," the priestess snapped. "Now leave before I regain my senses and have you whipped until unconscious for this escapade."

Sabal bowed slightly and then sauntered out, carefully not mentioning that she would have accepted the beating as long as Zyn had his chance. Now it was up to him to do his best, Goddess help him. Xalyth wasn't a bad sort, though the drugs she was addicted to could make her dangerous when they were denied. However, every inquisitor knew where to toe the line. It had been beaten into them in childhood as something necessary to survive the black, cold, cruel world that was Menzoberranzan.

Her peace did not last long.

_You are summoned to the chapel, sister,_ a voice whispered across the surface of her thoughts. She recognized it easily as one of her fellow inquisitors, a psionic warrior named Kalanath.

Immediately she turned and began heading in that direction. _Is there a reason for this?_ she drifted back.

_It seems someone has strayed from the true path._

A knot of dread grew swiftly in her stomach, making it churn in unease. She had not wandered, surely, so for her to be summoned would mean the crime was committed by someone else who was close, under the authority of the Church. Not Ryld, obviously. Even if he was probably guilty of something, the likelihood of an accusation coming his way with all the people who seemed to mysteriously owe him favors was slim to none. That really only left one person that she could think of.

Opening the doors of the chapel and stepping in only confirmed her suspicion. "Relonor," she breathed, steeling herself to keep her face expressionless as she saw the terrified boy dangling from the powerful grip of two draegloths, their hulking and monstrous figures on either side him. There were priestesses assembled, but only those who were among the Yath'Abban. His house would be informed afterwards, of course. Was this her fault for not watching him more closely, teaching him properly, keeping an eye on him at all times? They had sent her off every other damn day on official business.

Sabal, an all-too familiar voice purred. In the thought, she caught that same feeling of delicate claws digging in to the writhing flesh of a victim.

The inquisitor moved past the terrified boy and did her best to ignore the choking sobs shaking his narrow chest, kneeling in front of the altar and the yochlol disguised as a drow standing before it. "_Ussta jallil_, I am here as you requested."

"Indeed," the demon said, turning with a wicked little grin. Even the priestesses around were likely unaware of just what she was or why the inquisitor, normally so blunt and abrasive with clerics, offered her so much deference. "It seems we will need you to perform your duty. This boy has forsaken the Spider Queen and turned to Vhaeraun. He is a stain upon his house and this institution, a heretic. We all know what penalty this bears."

Behind her, Sabal could hear the boy whimper slightly. How had things changed so quickly to this? Less than an hour ago they were sparring... "Any soldier can do what you ask," she said quietly. "Why do you wish me to be his executioner?"

"That we will discuss after you have done as you are commanded," the yochlol said with an airy wave of one hand. She turned her attention to the weeping boy. "Bring him forward."

The two hulking, demonically tainted figures shambled forward and forced Relonor down to his knees before the altar. He was shaking and crying now, sobs catching in his throat as choking sounds. "I d-d-didn't, S-sabal," he gasped out, looking up at the grim figure of the inquisitor before him. He looked so small and helpless in front of her, practically a child still. The worst part was that even without looking into his thoughts, she was certain he was telling the truth. Or perhaps, she was seeing what she wanted to see.

Sabal glanced back at the yochlol. "And you are certain he is guilty?"

"He has admitted it."

_And how hard was that to wring out of him under threat of torture, under your control, you heartless elg'caress?_ the wilder thought bitterly. But the truth was what the Church said it was. There was some other, crueler purpose at work here. She pushed down her feelings and desire to be ill, drawing her sword. Relonor's eyes went wide. "No, p-please! S-sabal!"

"When the Goddess speaks, I obey," Sabal said, hands whipping her scarred sword in a sharp arc down from above. She forced herself not to look away as it sliced through Relonor's collarbone and his top few ribs, biting to a stop in his breastbone to cleave his shoulder from the rest of his torso. The blood flow was immense, aorta severed. It was a quick death, if a messy one. She had to keep looking as punishment of a sort, for betraying the boy when he needed her most. Another face to haunt her nightmares.

"And you have satisfied the Spider Queen. Though perhaps next time your loyalty will come with fewer questions," the yochlol said, words as much warning as commentary. "Your vigilance, however, is insufficient. Heresy is everywhere, Inquisitor. You allow your passions, your feelings for the people of your past, to blind you."

Sabal bared her teeth in a defiance so often buried these days. "Would you have me put everyone to death, then?" she snapped, letting her sword fall hard at the yochlol's bare feet. "Shall I tear apart this place stone by stone, as it fuels my emotions too?"

"Do not forget yourself," the demon warned, stepping forward into the wilder's challenge. "I hold your leash, mortal."

"Then Goddess help you and your pet priestesses the day you lose your grip," the amber-eyed drowess said. Even with her vows beginning to cut into her mind and soul, she felt her passions boiling towards the surface. Cold and bitter hatred, burning resentment, powerless rage, icy dread. She wanted to crush the creature standing before her like an insect or rip it apart limb from limb. Anything to strike back, to show them that she still had her claws and was no toy to be yanked around or forced into things.

The yochlol wrenched and Sabal felt something in her mind almost tear, stumbling to one side and almost falling forward until she caught herself on one knee. Blood trickled from her nose into her cupped hand, the smell of wet copper and liquid heat in her palm only infuriating the drowess more. But it was a hint taken, and she locked herself down. _Think of cold, think of dark, think of quiet..._

"I should hurt you further for that little rebellion," the yochlol breathed in her ear. "But I believe that sometimes, failure is its own punishment."

"Revered Yvonnel would say you suffer a crippling lack of imagination," Sabal muttered, getting up unsteadily to her feet. Her ears were still ringing, mind painfully restrained.

"Yes, well, it is one of her better qualities." The yochlol smiled, but it was a false gesture of reconciliation to disguise the caution it used when it looked at the wilder. "Step out of line again, and I will not be so lenient."


	12. The Last Push

Why did it have to be so cold? Drisinil didn't have the energy to shiver, instead lying in the musty filth on the floor with her bruised and raw cheek against the freezing stone, trying her best to pretend she enjoyed the dull ache of a chill that settled into her bones. It felt as though she had been down here centuries, wasting away into nothingness.

How long had it been since someone had spoken to her? The meeting with Sabal in the tunnels felt like a dream, as imaginary as the mercy her captors held for her. They had been vicious, relentless, and silent. They asked for nothing. It was driving her mad, thinking that there was nothing she could do to stop them.

And Sinjss...the only thing now that brought her consolation was imagining the gurgling sound the priestess might make if these horrible chains were wound around her throat and slowly, oh so slowly, pulled tight. Drisinil had never been ambitious-one of her crowning flaws in her mother's mind. But for the mere chance of that fantasy becoming reality, she was ready to do anything.

She was a drow, even here in this grime and blood stained abyss of pain and privation. With every thought of vengeance she devoted a prayer to the Spider Queen, a promise of Sinjss's lifeblood flowing to the mad mother of the drow in the Demonweb. The softness of a luxurious life had been beaten and starved out of her long ago.

The betrayal was like an old, festering wound in her heart, never so crippling that it made her give up, but so awful that it was always in her thoughts. "Sinjss..." she hissed out between teeth bared in agony as another tremor rippled through her body. A drug her tormentors had administered, one she vaguely remembered from the Academy. It was used to break someone's will.

They would have to try harder. She had wanted to give up, tried to before. But when they didn't relent, she found herself hardening again in spite and bitterness.

"Angry, little spider? Don't like being in someone else's web?" a voice rasped from nearby, sounding even worse than her own.

Drisinil started involuntarily and rolled onto her side. The corner cell and her own were separated only by adamantium bars sunk deep into the stone, and she could make out the shape she had thought so long to be a dead body smiling crookedly at her. There was a brief nauseated feeling of horror as she realized the skeleton had flesh stretched over it like parchment, knotted and shining scars around wrists worn down from centuries in chains. It was a drow...alive...a woman once. Now Drisinil saw just a corpse refusing to admit it was dead.

"Wasn't talking to you," she snapped reflexively, drawing back even though it felt so good to hear another person's voice after so long. Her own speech was rough and thick from disuse and thirst.

"Oh, but you were, little spider. You just didn't know it," the woman said conversationally, a small black arachnid wandering across her face.

Webs. The woman was shrouded in them, her cell was filled with them and the sacred creatures that had spun them. Perhaps my prayer didn't go unanswered wholly, Drisinil reflected. She considered the skeletal figure with more respect now, noting the fevered gleam of power in the woman's eyes. "You are chained. What could you possibly do for me?"

The living skeleton laughed so hard her ribcage covered in webs and tattered cloth shook, her eyes brighter now with tears. "You think this place of bars and chains can hold me, little spider? Once, this body was my prison, far more inescapable than any dungeon built by House or Church. Foes corrupted by the Dark Maiden imprisoned me here incalculable years ago. It was then that our Demon Queen allowed me to be transfigured. I am everywhere in the city. I know all things."

The expression on the hollow face became one of ecstasy that made Drisinil's blood run cold for just a moment. "Our Mother sings deep within the corners of my mind. I know you, Drisinil Baenre. I have watched you as I watch all. I know why you are here. And too do I know a way out."

Despite fear, despite her battered body's agonized protests, Drisinil almost flung herself at the bars between them and knotted around the icy metal. "How?" she hissed. "I will kill them all. Set me free from this place and I will bleed Kenafin dry for the Spider Queen."

The skeletal face smiled, lifting its chin slightly to regard her with interest. "Your hatred makes you strong, little spider. I shall set things in motion. The Church has been hunting for you, you see. Yet without proof, without something that cannot be denied, they could not delve too deeply. This will change. But until you hear the rattle of keys in your cell door, come close. Listen to what the Matron of Eyes has to teach."

Out in the city, Sabal woke with a start and a head pounding with divine energies. She still felt that shuddering echo of a voice in her mind, a voice familiar and terrible and worst of all, part of herself.

_Kenafin__._

In House Kenafin's box, high above the roar of the crowd, conversation flowed along with wine even as eyes roved over the scene of mayhem on the arena floor below. It churned Aly's stomach in a way, such a pointless waste of life to demonstrate the nobility's reach of power and of pocketbook. But that was the drow in their most primal essence, shouting for blood as the weak died below and their blood mingled with the sand. Some days she found it almost impossible to believe that any of her kin could be redeemed.

"Wine, sister? You look as though you need it," Sinjss offered as she came over from a brief conversation with the Weapons Master.

"And to what do I owe this charitable sentiment?" the mage asked, skepticism thick in her tone even as she accepted the glass. "I see no cause for celebration."

"A wonder you see anything behind that wall of books. Consider it an apology for all the work I have sent your way. Or not, whichever pleases you the most," the priestess said, sitting down. "Besides, watching the Matron heap praise upon Chardalyn is enough to turn a carrion-eater's stomach. I may as well be kind as I commiserate."

That was an answer the mage could accept, albeit reluctantly. They had formed an uneasy truce of late despite Sinjss's black temper, both somewhat out of the Matron's favor. Often it seemed their mother had eyes for only one child at a time, something eager to compete for. At the moment it was Chardalyn's turn to bask in the glow of praises, though Taleth's accomplishments in catering to the Spider Queen's whims had brought the third daughter out of obscurity long enough to enjoy similar attention. But as always, it was shortlived. Alystin considered herself somewhat fortunate, though once she had envied her sisters the adulations. The less attention people paid her, the more she could get away with. And as the only daughter engaged in an art of males, that ignorance was bliss for her.

"She is laying it on rather thick, isn't she?" Aly muttered, looking away from the games long enough to see Chardalyn soaking it in. All of them, save Aly, would turn a blind eye to the obvious manipulation just to enjoy it. The mage herself had never experienced it, so she retained a certain level of cynicism to accompany the resentment they all fostered deep in their hearts along with envy.

"Doesn't make our elder sister look any less smug. Suits her even worse than it did Taleth, maybe because she's so accustomed to having favor that she doesn't shamelessly abuse it to the same degree," Sinjss agreed sagely, drinking from her glass deeply as Aly did the same.

"Alystin."

The velvet voice made the mage's blood run cold and panic surge up from the pit of her stomach. The Matron never spoke directly to her, not since the day she had exhibited her talent for arcane magic. And that had been anything but pleasant. Something in her wanted to run, certain that if she warranted her mother's attention, it was because a brutal rebuke and beating was soon to follow. But she steeled herself with another quick swallow of wine before rising and turning to the most powerful woman in the house. "Yes, Matron?" she said quietly, eyes on the floor. She kept her posture almost painfully deferential, though she did make note of the surprise on everyone's faces.

Except Taleth's. _The__bitch_, Alystin simmered in her own thoughts. _Of__course__she__has__something__to__do__with__this__._

Matron Kenafin was a woman of eloquent speech, impeccable manners, and stunning beauty. Unfortunately those came coupled with a violent, vicious temper and a taste for cruelty nigh unmatched in even the upper echelons of Menzoberranzan. She was ambitious, but in a tempered way. No move was ever so blatant that it upset the delicate balance of power in the city and every play was backed securely by the Goddess's favor. Age suited her well, though she was hardly old compared to the legacy of Matron Yvonnel Baenre. "Taleth tells me you have been attending the Yath'Abban barracks almost religiously. Now I wonder, what could be so fascinating there to the least of my daughters?"

Now was a time to think very, very quickly. "My opinion was requested by some of the Spider Queen's servants, regarding a few artifacts from House Baenre's expedition," she answered obediently, sticking as close to the truth as possible. One did not lie to a liar with five centuries more practice than oneself. The whole business of her visits that were entirely personal did not need to come up.

"It seems I should send them a missive to avoid continuing in such a vein. No doubt they would waste less time than if they continued pursuing your...opinion," the Matron said casually.

Alystin heard the laughs from Chardalyn and Taleth, but she bit her lower lip hard to fight through the humiliation she could feel burning in her cheeks. So this was what her mother wanted: a victim to amuse her. Well, at least the Patron could escape his usual fate as the Matron's whipping boy. Perhaps if she simply just accepted it, things would be over quickly.

"Nothing to say? Or are you deaf in addition to those other defects?" the Matron probed again, satisfied when her youngest flinched slightly. Boredom was easily alleviated by games like this, relief tinging the amusement of the others in the box because the fate was inflicted on someone else.

"I believe I have something to interject, Matron Mother," a level voice said from behind them.

Alystin could have cried in relief at the sound of Sabal's familiar voice, looking up despite herself to see the grim and purposeful inquisitor there beside Ilivistin Baenre and Nedelyne. Her mother's expression turned to something of caution, distaste well masked for fear of offending the Goddess's servant and her two compatriots. "Inquisitor, this is an unexpected surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure? I am ever ready to assist."

"Your eagerness is noted," Sabal said flatly, dangerously close to dismissively. But before the Matron's reaction could register on her face, the inquisitor's attention had moved on to Aly. "Honored Alystin, gather your things and meet us in the street below at the nearest exit. There is something we need to speak of."

"Shall I send a more qualified daughter with you as well, Inquisitor?" the Matron said smoothly, getting in a parting shot at her youngest.

"If you had one, I would gladly consent," the amber-eyed drowess said without batting an eye, the two priestesses with her barely holding in their amusement. She gave a stiff bow. "Matron Kenafin."

After the door had closed behind the departing agents of Lloth, the Matron allowed herself to snarl. "Who does that little commoner bitch think she is?" she snapped, distracted from Aly as the mage threw everything in her bag and set aside her wine.

"I believe, Matron, that she thinks she's an inquisitor," the Patron supplied quietly, impassive even deep into his cups. His eyes were somewhat unfocused as he gazed around, at least until he glanced briefly at Aly. There was an unspoken apology in his look for not risking himself to spare her the worst of that. An old man's weakness, she supposed, doing her best not to hold it against him.

Down below in the street, a different scene was waiting.

"One of these days, you're going to get killed for that," Nedelyne said impishly as Ilivistin snickered into her hand. "Did you see the look she was giving you? It was like an aboleth came in wearing a feathered hat and started dancing to an elven lute. Baenre, try not to die of cackling, you hag."

Sabal's expression was as fathomless as always, Nede noted, but it had storm clouds behind it. Never a good sign.

"Good death," Ilivistin gasped out, holding her sides as she kept shaking. It looked like she might cry. Her rivalry with Nedelyne had turned into a begrudging respect and occasional moments of camaraderie over the past few months of working together, undoubtedly as a survival trait. "Needed that."

Behind them the door opened and Aly stepped out, looking both relieved and mortified. "You..." she said, glaring at Sabal as she searched for words. "You...Goddess, I'm not sure whether to kill you or kiss you. What's going on?"

Nedelyne stepped in, making note to torment the mage for that comment later. "Ravishing Sabal aside, we have a lead on that artifact. Didn't want to say it in front of your lovely mother, but we've got enough evidence to actually search your House for it. Someone there has it, and we think Drisinil Baenre."


	13. Set Up

"You have to believe me, Sabal, if I'd known anything I would have told you," Alystin said almost frantically as she followed the silent inquisitor down the hallway. Nedelyne and Ilivistin had enough common sense to make themselves absent upon reaching the Yath'Abban barracks, no doubt expecting the customary argument to explode.

In fact, the mage was half hoping it would. She didn't know where the certainty Sabal spoke the accusation came from, but its genuine nature was reinforced by the cold shoulder she was getting.

"I know," Sabal said finally when they reached the deserted training room. She slammed the door closed behind them with a viciousness not normally in her nature. She rounded on Aly. "Why do you let her say those things?"

It took all of the confidence she'd gathered over the years since the Academy not to flinch at the glare amber eyes were leveling not at her, but in her direction. "Sabal, she's a Matron. She can do what she likes, and there's nothing anyone but the Goddess, the Church, or nastier Matrons can do about it. Let it go. I have."

The wilder's jaw muscles worked as she struggled to regain her temper. Nothing made sense any more. Before, she knew better than to court danger with any cleric of Lloth so powerful, to let calculation and logic rule her. The yochlol had been right, as much as she hated it. She was losing control over her nature.

Aly pushed. "She'd kill me if I stood up to her. Do you want that?" she said more firmly.

Sabal looked down and to her right with a sudden icy control over her temper. Like a switch had been flipped, it was gone. That was something the noble still found unnerving. She was used to female drow who had to sulk and simmer or vent on powerless victims nearby. "No. You are, as usual, correct," the wilder said quietly. "My actions were out of line."

"But well intended, and appreciated," the mage said, softening the blow. It was...nice, to have someone so protective of her. But also strange. "You know, you weren't the one she was insulting."

Her answer was a small grunt from the wilder who had prowled over to the side. "The artifact," she said finally. "Yvonnel believed if we could find Drisinil, we could find the artifact. Now the name Kenafin is linked beyond coincidence. Why?"

"I don't know," Aly admitted, watching every movement the inquisitor made. It looked so effortless when the amber-eyed drowess moved, like a dancer flowing between steps. It went beyond Sabal's veteran status as a warrior to the psionic ability to be so perfectly attuned to where every part of her was at once.

"Did anyone in your family know Drisinil?" Sabal pursued. She had the slight frown that indicated she had fixated on her line of thought.

"If so, I have no idea. If it was one of my sisters, that would have been at the Academy. If it was one of my brothers, probably only for a night between the sheets. No one was exactly eager to be Drisinil's confidante. Her mother had so much control over her, and Quenthel Baenre is a very intimidating woman."

Sabal turned abruptly and the question died on her lips as she realized she was being watched so intently. "Something wrong with my armor?"

"No," Aly said innocently, which immediately seemed to intensify the wilder's gaze of suspicion. The mage was quick to crumple under the piercing look. "Fine. I was just thinking that I haven't seen you out of your armor once since the Academy. Do you ever take it off?" Would you like to? she added silently in her thoughts. But the odds of anything like that happening were slim to none.

"To sleep. And clean up." Sabal shrugged. "Requests for my presence are made at all hours, and priestesses expect inquisitors to be battle-ready at all times."

"Shame," Aly said. Time to reluctantly, but quickly, change topics. "As for my house, anything is possible. I can ask around a bit, see who suddenly becomes guarded."

"Invariably they all will," the inquisitor said, returning to something she understood firmly with much more ease. "I doubt the fact that we are looking for Drisinil has been hidden perfectly, particularly from a Matron. And she will have undoubtedly spread it to at least Chardalyn and Sinjss. They will no doubt assume we suspect them. Even an innocent person will lie and hide things if they fear punishment."

Aly nodded thoughtfully. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Ryld will know better than I. He should be here soon. I have a few dread fangs I need to meet with. We're going to see if we can find Drisinil's trail in the city, if there is one," Sabal said. "I look forward to meeting those meant to stop us."

"Straight into the heart of danger. Some things about you never change," Alystin said with a sigh. She felt a slight waver of concern and did her best to crush it mercilessly. Sabal could handle it. She'd be fine. "I'd say throw a fireball at them for me, but then why would you need to keep me around?"

"I don't need to. I wish to," the wilder said bluntly, amber eyes again neatly evading the mage's. "Until later."

And then she brushed past Aly's shoulder, narrowly avoiding Ryld as he came in. Her timing was perfect to avoid discussing anything else further. It left Alystin with the distinct impression that Sabal had said more than she intended to or wanted to.

"Somebody's looking forward to a bloodbath," Ryld noted as he watched the door swing closed after Sabal. "Still kissing the moon on your free time, Honored Alystin?"

"Shut up!" Aly hissed, almost going rigid with fright. Damn his eyes, but the male just couldn't stop himself from tossing those references around inside the Yath'Abban itself. She wanted to strangle him with a spell sometimes.

"Oh, no one's listening. Looks like there's something else you ought to be giving that attention to," the scarred male said almost breezily. "I see you're still stuck."

"I was wrong, alright? How many times do you want me to say it?" Alystin said with a nastiness she reserved just for Ryld whenever he put on airs. She hated the fact that he held the sword hanging over her head, and with just a word in the right ear he could send it plummeting down.

"Not completely wrong," Ryld said almost absently. "She does like you quite a lot. Her better judgment just keeps her distant, particularly after this unpleasantness with Relonor. I'd advise going for it more directly."

The mage felt a childish urge to make a rude hand gesture at him, but refrained as the idea was less than in keeping with her noble bearing. "And what precisely are you getting at?"

"Make her do what she wants to do and you want her to do. That's what manipulation is all about," he said with a wave of his claw-like hand. "And don't frown so. It is what's best for her in your book, isn't it?"

"You're up to something," Alystin said darkly, tightening her hand into a fist. She could feel the hum of arcane magics between her fingers, the subtle shift of power. It was futile to threaten him or even attempt to do him harm, but the gesture made her feel somewhat more in control of the situation. "I know your type, male."

"Ah, she grows bolder!" Ryld said with a chuckle, almost squaring off with the mage. But where she was tense, he seemed unnaturally at ease. "You'll need more of a spine than that before this is through. But you chose your path, and Sabal's. So now you have to walk it, and you don't have much time. Consider it a friendly piece of advice."

"I'm not interested in your friendship or your advice," Alystin snapped.

"Because you're making excellent progress as is," he commented, earning a momentary falter in her scowl. The words were sinking in whether she liked to admit it or not. "I look forward to watching you flounder as you continue with your own schemes. Mine are far more effective, but some things the youth simply must ruin on their own."

"Sabal said you would have something for me that isn't about this," the mage grated out from between clenched teeth. Had it been a better day, she knew she would have been so much more ready to handle Ryld. But as things were, he was as firmly under her skin as a metal splinter and just as infuriating,

"Yes. There are areas that no one but nobles of House Kenafin have access to within the stronghold. You're not going to ask about Drisinil, you're going to hunt for her in the lower levels. I believe there's an old tunnel somewhere below that leads to the Church's ancient prisons. No longer used officially or maintained, but it's not infeasible that someone may have restored a few chambers for their uses holding a captive," Ryld said with a smile. "And leave the rest to us. Though you might want Sabal as reinforcement. Easy enough?"

"Child's play," Alystin said with a curl of her lip. "I delight in crawling through decaying tunnels to find torture chambers and the members of rival houses while risking the wrath of my entire house."

* * *

"You'll be right at home, then," the scarred male said impishly.

"As delightfully wicked as this is, Ryld, it has massive potential to backfire," Yvonnel observed quietly, standing out on the terrace to watch traffic below in the streets go by. Much of the city was hushed since it was almost the death of Narbondel, but Menzoberranzan never really slept. She loved it for that, for its vitality. And its plots, spun in the darkness like silken webs to snare everyone and everything in them. "If it comes out that we are aware of a heretic in the upper ranks of a House and did not allow nature to take its course..."

"You said you wanted to see a wilder pushed to her limits and beyond, Revered Yvonnel," Ryld said smoothly. "After all, nothing makes the Houses fall in line like being reminded the Church has the biggest stick. Imagine what Sabal might be capable of. Xullae's journal was quite optimistic."

"So was she," Yvonnel said dismissively. "And we all know how that story ended."

"We still have a very powerful leash," Ryld said, standing at a relaxed attention with his hands clasped behind his back."No inquisitor has ever broken their vows. If you pull, she will heel. And we need not necessarily lose her as an asset, if we play things right."

Yvonnel was silent for a long moment, toying with her wineglass as she leaned against the railing deep in thought. Finally, she sighed. "I need the Houses to fall in line. Whatever that takes. But I think you are putting all your coin on the wrong gladiator."

Ryld's red eyes were mere slits as he regarded her. "Wilders are ruled by emotion. Sabal has resisted her own nature admirably so far, but her control is slipping. She recruited the boy without consulting the Church. She defied the Goddess's Handmaiden, no matter how briefly. All her life she has obeyed without question, without complaint. This is a new change."

"And you think the heretic is responsible, not her encounter with Drisinil?"

"Positive. Had Drisinil let something slip, we would have been confronted by now," Ryld said.

"She burned the envelope. Her curiosity did not extend to her bloodline. I would not expect that to change," Yvonnel said, her voice dry and skeptical. "Speaking of which, I doubt anything you're planning can compare to the toll Xullae's death took on her. She did not break then. Why would she now?"

"Because it's nothing I'm planning. I may not be a terribly intelligent drow, but even I know that fire burns and when a dam breaks, things get wet."


	14. I Don't Care

"Can we talk?" Aly asked softly, hands twisted together in her lap. They'd met outside the city a ways, at one of the old ruined watchtowers that had stood proudly along one of the routes to the city's approach long ago sealed and abandoned.

"I assumed that was why we were here," Sabal said, sitting down on the slab of fallen stone next to the mage. The wilder was still in her armor, smelling of weapon oil and leather and smoke and steel. She was calmer now, worn down from the battle. It was relief, in a way, to vent her emotions in battle rather than trying to grapple with them. "What's wrong?"

"Do you ever get that feeling in the hours before battle, where you're just waiting but you can feel it coming? I have that now. We've spent six months chasing down circumstantial evidence, trying to rule out everything. But now we've hit the point of no return," Aly said quietly. "What if something happens to you? To me?"

"Heavy thoughts for just sneaking into an abandoned dungeon," Sabal said, nudging the mage gently with her shoulder.

"There's something else going on. Something bigger. People wouldn't risk angering Quenthel over something small. People wouldn't steal an artifact if they weren't going to use it. I just...please believe me?" Alystin said. She was starting to fumble for words.

Ryld was right. If she didn't say anything, how would this end? But if she did, she knew Sabal would walk away. Time to do something in good conscience for once. No more running and hiding. If one person already knew her secret, why not another?

_An inquisitor._

She tried hard to swallow and breathe normally at the idea of having to face down Sabal in a real battle, the blade slicing into her throat, the force of an unyielding will crushing everything she was into dust. But she had to believe it could end differently, or else she'd completely lose her nerve.

"Of course," Sabal said, amber eyes studying the mage with a faint concern. "I won't let anything happen to you on the battlefield. You'll be alright."

Alystin smiled slightly, but it was sad and guilty and exasperated at the same time. "You never learn, do you? Your job isn't to risk yourself on my behalf. Inquisitors have duties. Vows."

The wilder arched an eyebrow at her. "You're the last person I expected to bring them up. Just because I have accepted that most of my life is dictated to me does not mean there aren't certain things I can do because it pleases me to do them. Throwing myself in front of crossbow bolts so that you aren't hit happens to please me. I will stop the moment I no longer wish to do it."

"Do you trust me?" Alystin asked, looking away. She wanted to run or lie or something. Hide everything. Undo something.

Sabal paused for a long time, clearly weighing the question and evaluating it. Her silence made sense, since trust was not something a drow willingly gave to more than a very select few people over their long lifetimes. "Yes," she said finally, bluntly.

It was the voice that Alystin always took as absolute certainty, something as concrete as the fact that there was earth under their feet. "I...having trouble with the words..." she mumbled before looking up at the inquisitor. She forced herself not to look away from the amber eyes. "I strayed, Sabal. Not a little. Nede thought I was just wavering, which I'm sure is why she didn't say anything. I never fit down here. My family, the Church, Lloth, they saw me as useless. The Dark Maiden didn't. So I followed her. I still do."

She watched quietly as Sabal's eyes went wide and then narrowed sharply, the flash of emotion across the familiar scarred face so complicated that she couldn't begin to understand. Betrayal, maybe? Certainly something conflicting and confusing.

Sabal felt that cold run through her body. The yochlol had warned her. Everyone had warned her. And now, the nightmare scenario was staring her in her face. Her whole life she had obeyed the dictate of duty. She knew what her vows demanded of her now. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, voice very soft and very careful.

"Because you deserve to know the truth. I know it's not what you thought it would be, but I had to tell you before I said the rest of what I have to say," Alystin said plainly. A weight she hadn't realized existed lifted off her shoulders. "I know what you have to do. I won't blame you, whatever happens."

Sabal closed her eyes and thought of Xullae, of Relonor. They had both been faithful, yet she had brought her blade to bear on them. She hated herself for it, and her vows. She couldn't bring them back and undo her mistakes. Her sword-hand tightened slightly against her leg, knotting into a fist.

_Goddess..._

Amber eyes opened and focused on Alystin. The mage seemed smaller at the moment, uncertainty etched into her features as well as a kind of loneliness. That secret had been eating away at her for how long? It set her apart, forced her to be alone. Sabal felt her heart ache slightly at the thought and pulled off her gauntlets, letting them fall quietly to the ground.

"I don't care," she said finally, turning to face Alystin completely. She framed the mage's face in her hands ever so gently, watching the gray eyes drift closed for just a moment before the words were processed.

"Wh-what?" Alystin managed to get out, almost gaping at the wilder. Nowhere in her thoughts had she imagined that response. "Your vows-"

"I don't care. You have me. You'll always have me," Sabal said firmly before letting her hands fall away. Maybe she didn't have the strength to break free of her vows, but she had enough strength to die.

The mage leaned in without thinking, lips colliding with Sabal's. The kiss was awkward, unplanned, out of practice, and completely perfect. It'd never felt like this before, her fingers hooking into the crimson sash, the rest of the world evaporating for just a moment.

"That was the rest," she said when they parted to breathe, little smile coming back as she felt all the tension in her body fade away. No more secrets, no more hiding. It felt so good.

Sabal struggled to answer, then finally just touched her forehead to Aly's and let the walls around her thoughts fade. She projected effortlessly now. You are all I want. Only you. Always you. No matter what.

"I should have told you sooner," Alystin said quietly, her smile turning wry. "I was just...you serve the Church. And then you seemed so different that I thought duty would come first. I don't know how much time we'll have. The Church finds everyone out eventually."

"They'll have to come through me," the wilder said. "I can buy you enough time to run. If you get to the surface-"

She was cut off by another kiss, and then the mage broke away to say plainly, "We stay together. I'm not facing the surface without you."

"I don't know if I can," Sabal admitted, looking down and away. "My vows aren't just words. They're...bonds. Powerful ones."

"Good thing you have a mage, no?" Alystin teased gently.

The inquisitor had her doubts, but did not voice them. Her mage looked far too happy right now to bring that cave-in down on her head. Better to focus on making up for lost time. It felt like time stopped, one kiss after another, each easier than the last, burning itself vividly into her mind, redoubling her will. Perhaps that was why she couldn't feel her vows crushing inward.

Her attention was drawn to the throaty whispers in her ear from Alystin when they pulled away. "Not here and now," Sabal answered, though she was sorely tempted to abandon everything else. "Search, remember?"

"Can't Drisinil find herself?" Alystin muttered darkly, reluctantly opening up some space between them.

"Unfortunately, no." The wilder brushed her thumb over Alystin's chin. "We'll have more time, I promise."

Quenthel's jaw was closed as tightly as a vice, her anger readily apparent in the flex of the muscles of her cheeks. "Your nerve is astounding," she hissed finally, glaring at the female drow in front of her.

Sinjss suppressed her urge to smile easily, proud now of the control she had developed over years of quiet planning. "Do you agree to the terms, Revered Quenthel? Because if not, House Kenafin is certain the city would be delighted to hear Drisinil's confession."

"You extort me with a line the Church knows is false..." the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith hissed venomously.

"And the other houses do not. People believe what they wish to believe. You and I know the truth has nothing to do with it. Think of how Matron Baenre would respond," Sinjss said pleasantly. "Support House Kenafin's move for power, and all this trouble will go away."

"Bold words for someone not yet Matron," Quenthel said, reigning her pride in. She would have her vengeance, no matter how long it took. If there was one thing she had learned from her mother, it was patience.

"What makes you think this order is from me?" Sinjss said, eyes widening slightly. "Were I not under orders from the Matron and Chardalyn, I would never have crossed your august path, Revered Quenthel."

"I want my daughter. Then you may have your troops," the Baenre noble ground out, hands flexing in her anger. Oh, she would have those two worthless clerics killed even if it meant this spineless worm becoming Matron Mother.

"They were quite specific on that, actually. If we didn't keep her as insurance, your troops might get confused and lash out at the wrong house's forces," the second daughter of House Kenafin said apologetically. The more placating she was, the more Quenthel's ire shifted from her. "She is alive, else we'd have no power to bargain."

"Very well. Now get out," Quenthel hissed.

Sinjss bowed and retreated wisely, pausing as she departed down the corridor to look at the webs in the corners of a small alcove. She could see a spider beginning its meal and felt a sort of sympathetic satisfaction. Two flies, one web. Foes within and without dealt with in one bite. She returned to walking with a comfortable smile.

Good things did indeed come to those who waited, she reflected as she ran her fingers over the grip of her new mace and felt power surge up into her hand.


	15. The Captive

"Why can we never go anywhere nice?" Alystin muttered as she lead the way down another spiral staircase that was cut deep into the rock of the city's foundations. "I hear the surface has lots of harmless animals and soft fluffy ground with no crawling horrors from the depths. Couldn't we be hunting for a lost noble there?"

She heard a soft, mostly stifled laugh from the inquisitor behind her and gave herself a mental pat on the back. If nothing else, she was amusing the normally grim Sabal.

"What manner of defenses are we looking at besides crawling horrors?" the wilder asked cautiously as they approached the landing.

"Umm...?"

Sabal winced slightly. "Marvelous."

"These passages are ancient, built right at the founding of the city. A few were used during the war for sneak attacks, but the caverns are honeycombed with these. No one's been down here for ages. Whole new civilizations of insectoid monsters may have sprung up, learned to use fire, and be waiting to make war on us as we speak," Aly said as she studied the door into the sunken passageways. The thing was inscribed with all manner of powerful runes designed to bar entry and exit for all save a select few. "The Matron doesn't even know this is here."

"You may want to amend your statement about no one having been down here for ages," Sabal said, indicating the ground. The path ahead of them was scuffed through the thick blanket of dust that muffled their already soft footfalls.

"The mechanism and hinges have been oiled, too. Someone didn't want too much noise," Alystin observed. "This door, it's designed so that opening the lock requires a mage and a cleric casting at once."

"Pity I didn't stuff Nede in a sack and carry her with us," Sabal said. She arched an eyebrow. "Suggestions?"

"Well, the reinforcing wards have faded, so...stand back. Preferably behind something less than flammable," Aly said firmly. She seemed in her element now as a scholar confronted with a puzzle. She conjured up a seed of flame into her hand with a single sharp word and hurled it at the door. The thing seemed to swell into a massive surge of fire and force, hitting the portal with an explosive power that shattered it completely. Splinters of stone flew outward in all directions and liquid metal spattered against the walls.

"Remind me not to get your temper up again," the wilder said lightly, gingerly stepping out from behind the archway that had sheltered her.

Her mage just smiled and stepped through the doorway. There was surprisingly little molten adamantium to avoid, as most of it had apparently been vaporized by the spell. Sabal followed into the stale, dry air. Ahead they could hear the dry scuttle of insects across stone, but nothing more.

The passages wound and split apart into a labyrinthian web sinking deeper and deeper into the stone. Carvings alongside the walls changed style gradually, the language too shifting from the drow tongue to some more archaic form of elvish. The next door was after they had walked for what seemed like hours, following the scuffed trail of traffic after centuries of disuse. "No lock," Alystin said. "But the frame shifted in a quake, so getting it open is going to need a serious push."

Sabal just nodded, bracing her shoulder against the door and shoving hard. It groaned and scraped in a painful, shrieking cry of protest and then finally yielded. They were hit by more dry air, this even more stale than before, issuing forth from the passage stairs with the moan of a tomb door opening. Faintly, the wilder felt psionic echoes as well. Pain and suffering, thoughts frantic and broken, had battered against the walls with such a force that the feeling of misery seeped from the stones. "We should not linger here long. I shudder to think what shades or echoes might be lying in wait," she said quietly.

She heard Alystin murmur a soft incantation for magelight despite the fact that it was unnecessary. She understood the feeling. This place was drenched in evil, and as useless as it was, light brought some relief. The grainy, graveyard glimmer made an island of illumination around them but faded too quickly into the abyssal shadows crowding close around them.

Sabal moved forward first, her armored form adding an extra layer of protection to the mage's defenses. Lingering in the air was a smell of blood and burned flesh that was too strong to have been a memory. It looked like they had found their dungeon, though the interrogation room they passed through first was enough to turn even Sabal's stomach: flensers and scalpels in bloody dishes of water, small pieces of pointed metal still lying in the braziers used to heat them, other monstrous things that she looked away from as soon as images demonstrated their purpose in her thoughts.

"Sabal, those shadows are moving," Aly hissed urgently in her ear.

The inquisitor pivoted in time to see something massive leap at her with a incredible speed. Her reflexes took over and she threw herself backwards, slamming Alystin to the ground and narrowly avoiding one blade-like leg. The creature was as big as a surface plow horse in its body, eight legs spanning fourteen feet at least. A bebilith, a spider-like demon so powerful it could hunt other demons.

Its legs rippled as it turned around to face her with an unholy hunger reflected in its many-faceted, irregular black eyes. It crouched like a wolf spider to leap at them, fangs glistening with a potent venom. The wilder scrambled to her feet with Aly and darted half across the room, hurling a table into the creature's path. The giant arachnid batted it aside like it was nothing and caught the moving wilder with a powerful blow across her side, flinging her across the room to focus on the mage.

Sabal collided with the ground and felt the air surge out of her lungs, a new dent in her armor pressing viciously into ribs that were suddenly on fire. She sucked in a breath despite the pain and tried to get to her feet.

There was a bright, actinic flash and the smell of ozone and foul smoke filled her senses as Alystin sent a bolt of lightning straight into the creature. The demon let out a chittering squeal of pain and blindly lashed out with its two front legs, missing with one and spearing the other through the noble's shoulder, pinning her to the wall.

Sabal heard the cry and was on her feet in a moment. The pain fueled her on now, along with a vicious black anger that she could feel coalescing in the front of her mind. Her will hit the creature like a battering ram, knocking it away from Alystin, who was tossed in the opposite direction and lay gasping on the ground, trying to concentrate.

_Mine._

The possessive, protective rage pushed every once of pain away. The thing leapt at her, scything into her armor, ripping it away, but she grabbed its limbs and crushed them with the force of her mind. When its fangs sank into her leg and she felt the burn of poison through them, she ignored it and hammered more at the horrible creature until she was in its mind and she could feel it trying to planeshift away. She tore at it viciously, distracting it so that it had no concentration to escape.

A lethal fireball, not unlike the one cast at the door, hit its shuddering abdomen and sent it into awful paroxysms of death that knocked Sabal back away from it. The smell of burning chitin and foul, viscous fluid dripping from its fangs filled the room.

"Knew I'd need that fireball," Alystin managed with a wry smile, her hand shaking as she healed her own shoulder and got to her feet. She knew well enough that she'd be no use to anyone, least of all Sabal, if she were wounded.

The wilder nodded vaguely, her parts of her armor coming off in ribbons of leather and steel spattered with blood and ichor with the creature. She forced herself to calm down and come back to her center, but with that came pain and a creeping weakness spreading out in all directions from the deep bite wound in her thigh.

Alystin was there to steady her when she started to sway, guiding her to sit down on the floor with her back to the wall. "How are you doing, Sabal?" she asked with a firmness that meant the question had to be answered, casting a healing spell to handle the other wounds before moving on to the poison.

"I feel weak," she admitted before hissing out a string of profanity as her ribs snapped themselves back into place one by one. "I can't really move my leg, and I can feel it starting to spread."

"It needs time to heal as well as a spell. You'll still have weakness," the mage said, casting.

Sabal's face contorted into a grimace, feeling as though her blood had started to boil in her veins. But the creeping weakness was burned away, leaving her trembling slightly but able to move.

"Better?"

The wilder nodded as the pain receded and let Aly hoist her up. The leg was weak and unsteady, but nothing she couldn't force herself to move with anyway. The wound site, now healed, throbbed slightly and felt hot to the touch. "Let's find Drisinil before I come to my senses."

Dust filtered down from the ceiling as they made their way around the curled, oozing bebilith's dead carapace and then the whole world seemed to shudder slightly. Sabal caught hold of the noble's shoulder and barely kept her feet. "Cave in?"

Alystin shook her head. "Something up in the city. Can't be good." Her lips were pursed in worry, eyes speaking of a fear she was unwilling to voice.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together," Sabal said firmly. After a few more shudders, the ground seemed to calm and it was safe to move forward to the holding cells.

"Drisinil!" the mage called, clutching her staff tighter in case there was another bebilith or something worse.

A figure stirred in one of the cells, slowly rolling itself over on the ground with shuddering breaths that spoke of an unimaginable pain. Sabal took the lead, pulling a set of keys off an iron hook in the wall. She unlocked the door with a screech of poorly lubricated parts fighting and grinding against each other. "Aly, you have more healing spells?"

"Maybe not enough, but yes," she said softly, stepping into the cell and crouching down. A mangled hand stained with dirt over its burns shot out and seized the house symbol she wore at her shoulder, almost pulling her off her feet.

Something so dry and cracked it was barely recognizable as a voice hissed out, "...Kenafin..." Baleful red eyes shadowed by sleepless nights glared up at her with a hatred that made Alystin shiver. But she could recognize the face beneath the filth-proud, arrogant lines and angles of the jaw, the cheeks, the eyes that marked the Baenre family.

"I'm here to get you out of here," she said, regaining her nerve. "Let me heal you. Sabal will help you walk out."

Drisinil's cracked lips parted in a struggle to speak. "S...S...Sabal..." she breathed, seeming to relent slightly. The mage took the opportunity to begin her healing. Open wounds faded and burns slowly returned to normal skin, though there was no cure for the weight Drisinil had lost or the softness save time. And she would always have scars, even on her face. In an odd way, Aly was reminded of Sabal.

The wilder crouched down and carefully removed the gripping hand from Alystin's house symbol. "Right here, Drisinil," she said quietly.

Heavy eyelids sank down over exhausted crimson eyes and then suddenly the captive convulsed slightly with a rough sound in her throat. Alystin almost panicked, worried that her spell had somehow gone awry, until she realized what was happening: Drisinil Baenre was crying, even though her body refused to waste water on tears.

"We need to get her out of here," the mage said quietly. "I've done everything I can."

Sabal nodded, shifting her arms underneath the fragile body still trembling slightly and picking her up. There was no resistance from the battered priestess, even as the ground overhead shuddered again with more intensity. Rock cracked somewhere above them. "Quickly," Sabal said with urgency, letting Alystin lead the way.

They had made it back to the stairs when a massive slab of stone in the roof broke free and crushed the doorway behind them utterly. Alystin broke into a full run, and Sabal was quick to follow. Her weakened leg was not suited for this, but she dared it to fold underneath her as she sprinted. It was the urgency of survival that kept her going.

Stone dust ran down the walls around them in rivulets as great slabs of rock ground together, a few smaller pieces plummeting down with enough force to kill if they struck a living body. One the size of a person's head narrowly missed Alystin's shoulder as they darted for the safety of the newer, sturdier passages. Finding their way back was a matter of simply following the path, thankfully.

They ran for what felt like years, narrowly dodging hazards until the tremors slowly faded away behind them and they had crossed the destroyed threshold of the first door. "Never again," Aly panted, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Sabal let her leg finally buckle, sliding to the floor with Drisinil still clinging to her shoulder. "This one needs food, water, and a bath. Think this is safe enough?"

"Best we're going to get until House Baenre," Alystin said, picking up the satchel she'd abandoned. Drisinil was cautious of the waterskin, but some slight persuasion got her to drink the cool liquid. Life rushed back into her tired limbs. The small amount of food they'd brought was enough to fill her stomach.

Alystin wove a few cantrips, sweeping the grime and filth off of the Baenre noble and unknotting the tangles in her hair. Drisinil looked almost back to her old self, save for the newfound intensity in her expression and mannerisms. Drisinil was also more than happy to change her tattered clothing out for a fresh set of Aly's. Before, the Baenre noble might have found it a tight fit with her frame compared to the mage's slighter build. Now the clothes hung on her a tad loose, but fit well enough in height and length.

"What's happening above?" Drisinil asked, her voice coming more easily now that the thirst was gone and her throat was moist.

"No idea," Sabal said quietly. "But something big if it was causing earthquakes."

Alystin suddenly was very still and very quiet. "You don't think...a war between the Houses?" she said softly. "Quenthel might have-"

Drisinil's raw, barking laugh cut her off. "She left me to die," the priestess said with a bleak humor. "And started a war over my corpse? No, not that. This is different."

Another deep tremor ran through the stone beneath and made the ground shudder slightly. Alystin stood up and helped Sabal off. "We'll go to the Yath'Abban, then," she said. "Drisinil's safety is supposed to be our first priority."

"You may grow to regret that yet, Kenafin," the former captive said, the barest suggestion of a smile on her lips.


	16. Matron

Sabal took the steps to the temple two at a time, very much aware of the mage's presence at her back. The weakness in her leg was not enough to make her even consider slowing down. Drisinil was in the relative safety of her House's soldiers at the gate, probably resting. But the roiling feeling of unease that the wilder had felt growing was not abated.

The air tasted of smoke and death. She could feel echoes of pain, of war, with every step. And the heart of that maelstrom was bearing down on the Spider Queen's demesne within Menzoberranzan.

"I don't like this," Aly breathed as the doors opened at only the slightest of pushes. She could see a knot of people at the altar, the heart of it Nedelyne. The familiar face, even grimy and spattered with blood, made both of them relax slightly. "Nede, are you alright?"

The priestess's whole body seemed to tense for a moment and the soldiers with her, including Sszrar, raised their weapons in her defense. The bafflement across Alystin's face seemed to soften the suspicion Nede was directing at them. "You must not know..." she said quietly, waving her guards aside. "Aly, Kenafin attacked my House. I...I am the last."

"And Baenre is allowing this?" Sabal said, surprised. Open warfare was rare, such brazen power plays frowned upon.

"Last I saw, they were aiding Kenafin," Nede admitted as she came forward.

Without hesitation, the mage wove a healing spell over the deep gash in her friend's side. Her loyalty to her house was less important than the people who were close to her. "We're not going to let them kill you," she said firmly.

Nede laughed without humor. "It's you or me, Aly. If I survive this assault, it'll be to call for vengeance," she said with the blankness of a woman distancing herself from what she had to do.

Sabal's hand closed around the priestess's forearm, almost wrenching Nedelyne off her feet. "The price of my aid is Alystin's survival," the inquisitor breathed beside her friend's ear.

"You can't fight a House," the cleric said, hesitating. She did not want Sabal for an enemy, even if she didn't understand why the wilder was willing to go out on a limb to protect the mage.

"I can kill nobles. And that's all you need. A mage cannot become Matron, Nede. Aly's no threat to you," Sabal said softly, dangerously. "Give me this one thing, and I will make certain that Druu'giir lives on."

"Bowing to an inquisitor makes my House look weak," she said through gritted teeth. She wasn't strong enough to take on Chardalyn or worse, Matron Kenafin, in a toe to toe battle. Her offensive powers were considerable, but they had defensive spells that could sweep even that aside. Particularly with the favor of Lloth and House Baenre. Sabal could level the playing field, be the ace up her sleeve. "You know it. Everyone here knows it. I will be Matron because you made it so."

"Because the Spider Queen made it so, and I was only an instrument. You need me, Nede. You need the Church. If I make a move, Yvonnel will back me and she holds many leashes," Sabal said. She knew her friend was not a fool.

"So be it," Nedelyne agreed as the main doors opened in tandem with those to one side. Reverend Daughter Yvonnel was at the east doors with the Dread Fangs at her back and Ryld beside her.

Through the main entrance came Sinjss Kenafin in armor, flanked by her house's best soldiers. They were covered in blood and soot from the battle to this point, but clearly victorious. And something was not right about the priestess. The light in her eyes was feverishly bright, her limbs moving with a hint of jerkiness, as if she was a puppet on strings.

"Sinjss, what the hell are you doing?" Alystin said, bracing herself.

"Matron, now, actually," Sinjss said smoothly. "I really do owe you a great deal of thanks, Alystin. If you hadn't told me about Baenre's little project, I might have never made it this far. Mother and Chardalyn never even saw it coming."

"The artifact," Nedelyne hissed out between clenched teeth, her eyes focusing on the mace that hung comfortably from the leather cord wound around Sinjss's right hand. "I can feel its power. It's overwhelmed her."

"Oh no," Sinjss said. Her smile was awkward, contorted, stretched across her face crookedly. "I am perfectly in control. But you're an afterthought, Nedelyne, a scrap to be swept up in due time."

Sabal drew her sword and placed herself firmly between both of her companions and Sinjss. The burning eyes were coming into focus on her even as the priestess flicked her gauntleted hand and caught the grip of the mace. There was nothing she wanted to say, no words that ought to be bandied. Xullae had taught her to be silent, purposeful, efficient.

"Sabal, she's too dangerous," Alystin said, her voice strained as she started to prepare defensive spells.

Kenafin's new Matron laughed, the sound hollow and echoing. "Oh, the inquisitor protecting the heretic. How delightful! Did I mention that I hold the leash now, A'Daragon? Let us see how the Spider Queen really feels about your broken vows."

Nede and Alystin both flinched back as the wilder's body convulsed, blade clattering to the ground. Sabal felt only that white hot pain she had tasted but once before, a power only yochlol were supposed to feel. The walls around her mind were shattering, being forced in upon themselves. It was an agony she could not describe.

When it for a moment abated, she found enough presence of mind to hear strange sobbing, keening sounds that she didn't recognize as belonging to a person. And then she realized that they were coming from her own throat.

"How does it feel, I wonder, to be completely under my thumb?" Sinjss said softly, leaning down. "I dreamed of this for so long, ever since you took that snake whip from me. All you can do now is watch, as I deal with heresy as it is meant to be dealt with."

_When the Goddess speaks, I obey._ Her own voice was hollow in her thoughts, the memory of Relonor's blood running over her hands blurring together with the sensation of a throat crunching in under the force of a dagger, the desperate way her fingers curled into Xullae's armor. It should have been me.

"Sabal!" Alystin cried out, forgetting all notions of being purely defensive and hurling a vicious fireball at Sinjss. There was a strange surge of power from the mace and the fire blossomed across an invisible shield before evaporating away.

"I felt that," Sinjss said with a little chuckle. "A shot across my bows, Alystin. Sorcere taught you more than I thought. But not enough to survive this."

Alystin took a deep breath, gathering her focus as her older sister closed the distance between them. The first swing of the mace she parried with her staff, feeling the wood shudder ferociously under the blow. The profane magic bleeding off the ancient weapon was almost choking, but she kept her footing all the same and prayed silently for the Dark Maiden's protection. Why that itself didn't get her killed in the Spider Queen's temple she would never understand.

The mage could see Nedelyne and House Druu'giir's soldiers fanning out to look for a weak spot or a disadvantage, but they were not risking getting too close. Survival of their whole house was at stake. If the younger Kenafin died because of their hesitation, it was a necessary evil.

Every ounce of Alystin's training went into protecting herself as she fought to fend Sinjss away from the fallen form of the wilder. But she was losing ground rapidly under the demonic onslaught of her sister.

_So many failures_, Sabal reflected as she came back to herself, watching Sinjss block another fireball with an effortless burst of divine magic. Her limbs burned and the pain returned when she tried to move. Whispering black voices screamed in her head, tearing at her mind with wicked claws. She could feel blood dripping across her lips.

_I am strong enough to die._

The idea of losing Alystin urged the already ferocious blizzard of her emotions into a whirling ice storm, pushing back against her vows. Every fiber of her being felt like it was being pierced by red hot needles as she pushed herself up, arms too weak to even lift her sword completely. Instead, she staggered and the lethal point scraped against the floor.

Once, in her studies, Sabal had encountered ancient texts referring to the drow concept of love, ever linked to insanity and damnation by even its linguistic roots. That all-consuming death of self eradicated everything in a blast of midwinter frost, until she could feel herself channeling every ounce of energy into preparation. Even the strength that powered each beat of her heart.

_Aly, protect Aly. Nothing else matters._

That thought pushed through her pain, forced her muscles to move powerfully despite everything. She hurled her mind forward, dragging her body behind, the force of her will alone streaking like a comet at Sinjss and the wicked weapon that seemed to be driving her on. The shockwave of force manifested physically shattered floor tiles and flung them at the assembled people like lethal shrapnel.

The mace, still held in Sinjss's hand as she brought it for a vicious blow at Alystin's exhausted and shuddering form, exploded with the force. Scorching dark energy lashed out, a spectral shriek echoing through the temple. Sinjss and Aly were both flung backwards, but Sabal did not stop for a moment. She could still taste blood, feel her sword in her hand, see her enemy through the haze of rage.

The distance was nothing. She crossed it in a few steps, reaching just as Sinjss had made it up onto her knees. Then there were only wide crimson eyes, pleading, and a single breath, a single word. "Mercy."

The face was Sinjss, was Relonor, was Xullae. The chains of her vows were constricting, tearing at her mind, crushing her will. But she refused to fall until this was over. "Mercy," Sabal rasped out in response, plunging her blade down. It sliced through one pauldron of Sinjss's armor, the length of the sword ramming down into her chest between her collarbone and shoulderblade. Through the heart, through the lungs, through all those veins, and into the organs. A brutal but swift death.

When the mind winked out, the sudden crushing death of her vows lifted and Sabal felt her knees give way. It was Nedelyne who caught her before she could hit the ground, Alystin still getting to her feet. "You know how to put on a show," the cleric muttered with a little smile despite herself. "Sinjss was the last if she killed Chardalyn and her mother. Sszrar and I killed Taleth."

Sabal did not answer, the world so impossibly far away. Her body felt weak, her mind flickering like a candle flame.

"Her vows have severely weakened her, Matron Druu'giir," Revered Yvonnel said, stalking over to her. "Apparently that artifact was able to wield an influence over them that shouldn't be possible. However, it is gone, so at least there's that."

The priestess slapped Sabal across her face, leaving a stinging hand print that felt far more real and anchored her to her body again. "Yvonnel," she forced out, eyes beginning to focus again.

"I see your habit of saying questions as statements has not faltered, Inquisitor. Get up, or I will finish the job," the Revered Daughter said bluntly. She knew what Sabal needed-the same treatment that Xullae would have given her.

Sabal pulled in a deep breath, dragging the fractured force of her will back into some parody of order and directing it to her body. She managed to stand with help, coming back to herself. She wiped at the blood trickling from her nose and the corner of her mouth. "Yes, Revered Yvonnel," she said obediently.

The priestess studied Nedelyne for a long, pensive moment, then smiled in her secretive way. This little coup of Kenafin's, while ultimately a failed one, meant that city politics would be incredibly interesting in future...particularly since House Druu'giir now had a lot of reasons to be very grateful to the Church. What better way to bring the Matrons in line than remind them who could make and break thrones?

"Kenafin's assault has failed," Yvonnel said loudly, focusing her attentions on the assembled Dread Fangs. "If there is one thing that the Goddess cannot tolerate, it is weakness. We, as Her faithful servants, must demonstrate the price of failure. Break their army. Dismantle their fortress. Erase their name."

"Matron Baenre and Quenthel will need to know," Nedelyne said, almost collapsing herself from gratitude. However, her voice came out less shaky than she actually felt. "Else we'll have a larger problem on our hands."

"I'll see to that," Yvonnel said. She turned thoughtfully to Alystin. "And you, mage, are a problem. By rights, you should be dead and dismembered on this floor."

Alystin couldn't suppress her shudder as the priestess watched her with a casual sort of interest, undoubtedly more than willing to do as was normally prescribed. Nedelyne cleared her throat. "Actually, I made a bargain with the inquisitor, Yvonnel," she said, straightening up before turning to her friend. "Alystin, it occurs to me that my house is currently lacking in the arcane front. Join us, and live. It means surrendering the Kenafin name and all the power accompanying that."

"Really?" Aly managed. "Why didn't you say so? We should have done this years ago."

"You ass," Nede said with a grin, relieved. "We are going to cause so many headaches."

Aly removed her house insignia and let it sit in her palm for a moment, focusing. The metal started to glow and bubble from heat, then burst into flame to the approval of Nedelyne's ragged band of soldiers. In a fe moments, it was burned away to nothing. "Alright, Matron. I'm following you."

"There is another matter to be handled, not to interrupt this celebration," Yvonnel said, voice as calm and polite as ever. But she wasn't looking at them. She was looking at Sabal. "Was the accusation that you had broken your vow true, Sabal? More importantly, is Sinjss accurate in her estimation that Alystin Druu'giir is a heretic?"

Aly felt her blood run cold, realizing that she was far from out of the woods yet. She'd hoped that it would just be written off as another aspect of Sinjss's insanity.

Sabal was silent, amber eyes impassive. She stood like a statue, space clear between her and Yvonnel.

"Do not make me force it out of you, Inquisitor. Give me the truth, and the suffering of everyone will be lessened," Yvonnel said more firmly.

"I did forget my vows. But Alystin has only wavered, not strayed," Sabal answered harshly, her voice rasping. She ran her broken mind over the surface of Yvonnel's defenses, seeping like water through the smallest of cracks, gently doctoring perception to conceal the lie from even a powerful priestess. The yochlol would not ask if they were not alerted-they cared little about mortals, generally speaking.

Yvonnel smiled thinly. "Failure carries a heavy price, Sabal. I wonder...are you weak enough to run and hide, or foolish enough to fight?"

Sabal lowered herself onto one knee, undoing her sash so that she could lay her sword down at her side. Obedience was the virtue that Xullae had always taught her. She was not about to forget it now. "I submit myself to the justice of the Church, Revered Yvonnel. Do as pleases the Goddess."

Even as Aly felt her stomach knot unpleasantly, the priestess laughed. "You always were a smart one, Sabal. Rise. You will redeem yourself in the company of the Dread Fangs. Find the supporters of the former Matron Kenafin. Slay them in silence, young and old, and leave not one to breathe. Return to me when you have finished your penance," Yvonnel said.

"I think we are finished here," Nedelyne said, catching Alystin by the arm. "You make a much better sister than Shi'ndra. Now let's go help the Church sweep up before Yvonnel changes her mind, shall we?"

A silent Sabal parted through the damaged doors just ahead of them, vanishing like a wraith into the many streets. Alystin felt a stab of concern, still afraid of what all this meant. She couldn't believe that Sabal, probably for the first time in her life, had lied to a priestess under penalty of death. That was not some little risk for her sake.

"Do you think she'll be alright, Nede?"

The newly minted Matron shrugged. "Was she alright to begin with?"


	17. The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note: **Apologies for how long this took. Projects afterwards should be much faster, on the bright side. Between technical difficulties and life...well, it happens.

* * *

"You are incredibly lucky that you rescued Drisinil Baenre, or I might have had you tortured," Yvonnel said flatly, staring down the returned inquisitor. As always, Sabal had carried her instructions out to the letter, despite the grisly nature of the task. "Did none of our lessons sink in? You of all people should understand what happens when an inquisitor hesitates, when an inquisitor fails."

Sabal weathered the storm in silence, hands clasped behind her back. They were in Yvonnel's private chambers within the Yath'Abban's walls as the priestess paced back and forth.

"Still, your little fit of rebellion and this chaos has played to our advantage, so I'm inclined to be charitable. Besides, when has physical pain taught you anything? And will you stop just watching the wall and answer me?"

"As you wish, Revered Yvonnel," Sabal said softly, amber eyes still studying the smooth expanse of stone. "My understanding was that my opinion is irrelevant."

"There is that," Yvonnel ground out. She gave the inquisitor a hard look. "You are confined to the Yath'Abban and its grounds when you are not on a patrol I assign. No visitors. No leisure time will be permitted either. You will train and, I hope, reflect upon your mistake. This is your only second chance, Sabal."

"Thank you, Revered Yvonnel," Sabal said, inclining her head with a feigned, but appropriate level of both contrition and gratitude.

Yvonnel laughed and shook her head. "You really are Xullae's child. Not by blood perhaps, but once I had her in my office just like this," she said. "I shudder to think the amount of trouble any student you train might cause. You are dismissed, Sabal."

The amber-eyed drowess felt a slight warmth in her chest despite her confinement. Being reminded that she was anything like her mentor did that. And so did the knowledge that Alystin, at least for now, was safe. Maybe someday she would be able to flee Menzoberranzan for the surface, while the inquisitor knew in her heart of hearts that the city would always be her home even if Alystin was there no longer.

It startled her when she opened the door to her quarters and saw Aly perusing her bookshelves. "You have got to get some variety. This is all about cults."

"They are useful," Sabal said in defense of her books, though she smiled despite herself. "How is the House?"

"Nede may deny it all she likes, but she's a good leader," Alystin said, sitting down in one of the wilder's armchairs. "The soldiers like Sszrar. The priestesses are frightened of her. It's a solid combination. Things are already starting to come together and rebuild. It feels strange, to be a part of family that's chosen, not blood."

"But better," Sabal said with confidence, her amber eyes bright. "I will not be able to see you for quite a while. Isolation is the next part of my penance."

"And will we get a chance to do things right?" the mage asked quietly.

"I hope so. But nothing is certain."

* * *

"I wish I could have seen it," Drisinil rasped, emaciated frame leaning against the railing beside Quenthel. "Why did you even agree to aid them?"

"It was not a matter of choice," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said quietly, manicured nails tapping against the smooth stone of the rail as she watched the city begin the work of repairing itself, particularly the smoldering ruin that had once been Kenafin's fortress. "It is done now, whether to your satisfaction or not."

"It will never be done as long as one of them keeps breathing," Drisinil said thickly, thinking back upon that terrible time. She needed revenge more than anything–more than food, more than rest, more than air.

"Pick your battles, daughter," Quenthel said with a hint of a smile. Now there was the fire she'd wanted in her child, that burning ambition for more. "You do not have the status or the power for striking at the valued member of House Druu'giir. Patience is a virtue."

"Then I will bide my time, become someone with the power to move with impunity. After all, you won't be around forever," Drisinil said. Her smile was brittle, like shattered glass. "I haven't forgotten that you abandoned me, Mother."

"We'll see, now won't we?" The elder Baenre was pleased when she turned to go inside. All of this had worked out so well...almost as if according to plan.

She turned the shard of mace she had been holding her hand over, rubbing her thumb across the metal and feeling a shiver of power run up her arm. _Yes, exactly according to plan._

_**End.**  
_


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